


Doctor Mechanic Prompts

by joethelion



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Sports, Assassin AU, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Omegaverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-06-02 12:36:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 48,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6566425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joethelion/pseuds/joethelion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Prompt: Soulmate AU: </p><p>The world is black and white until you meet your soulmate. A woman shows up almost dead and flatlining in Abby’s Trauma Unit. </p><p>Part 1 (this will definitely be continued. Now I'm all intrigued.)</p>
          </blockquote>





	1. Soulmate AU: My Soulmate™ (Black and White to Color)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Soulmate AU: 
> 
> The world is black and white until you meet your soulmate. A woman shows up almost dead and flatlining in Abby’s Trauma Unit. 
> 
> Part 1 (this will definitely be continued. Now I'm all intrigued.)

Abby looked up from her charts, stretched and left the nurses station to get food. The mountain of files weren’t going anywhere and her rounds started again in ten minutes. Most of the night’s intake roster was stable. The 36 hours on-call was brutal—on everyone—she watched her staff move through the rhythms of the ER. Exhausted or not, her team was some of the best.

Chief Trauma Surgeon came with a few perks and one was dibs on the last, ancient snickers bar in the secret stash in the break room. She’d been thinking about it all day and now she was halfway through it, sprawled on the couch cradling Marcus’s feet while he dozed. They lounged in a comforting landscape of old coffee cups and take-out containers when her pager went off. “Goddamnit. Fuck. Shit. Hell.” Her string of curses were practical, no-bullshit and concise; they got the point across. The others in the room, in various states of consciousness barely registered it. “Go get ‘em, tiger,” Marcus gave her the thumbs up without opening his eyes.

She stuffed the rest of the gorgeous, stale, life-defying thing of beauty: chocolate and nougat and nut, into her mouth and sprinted out of the room. Jackson meet her halfway through her dead-run—jfc he must have a homing device on him with her GPS coordinates at all times—and slapped the Enchroma glasses into her pocket in a time-worn, smooth relay hand-off—they shot down the hall to the Trauma Unit entrance to await whatever horror was coming their way. It was a full moon, a weekend and a sweltering summer night. Whatever was coming would be a shitshow.

“Gunshot?” Jackson asked.

Abby just shook her head, “That would be too easy.” She shifted the glasses on the bridge of her nose and sighed, annoyed.

The disability she lived with, Achromatopsia—a syndrome that exhibited as an autosomal congenital color vision condition—made it impossible to perceive color and to achieve satisfactory visual acuity at exterior daylight levels. The glasses mitigated it enough she could perform her duties with no one calling her out. No one else on the unit knew about it except Jackson and Marcus.

After the Fall three centuries ago the human race lost their capacity to see the color spectrum, a side-effect, she guessed, of elevated radiation levels earth-side and tied to the bioluminescence exhibited in other species, like butterflies and moss. Trees. It blew Abby’s mind, the sheer sadistic pleasure with which Mother Nature had doled out this punishment to her homicidal children. It was as if the gods had decided their species didn’t deserve to see all of Creation since their attempt at destroying it.

Her ancestors were born in space, on the Ark. In space, radiation penetrated living tissue and caused both short and long-term damage to bone marrow stem cells—it caused chromosomal aberrations in lymphocytes. Those born in space were susceptible to increased vulnerability to new exposures, and congenital viruses. By some cosmic, awful joke the condition could only be reversed when a person found their soulmate. No one had a fucking clue why that was. It was in a small percentage of the population, a recessive trait, but it was there.

People awakened, hung-over and disoriented. They’d looked over at the lucky shmuck they’d picked up the night before and literally, screamed. Whoever it was, their ersatz one-night stand was now a soulmate in all their glorious, glaring and overwhelming Technicolor. Highly disconcerting. It was either incredibly awkward or enlightening and your fate was decided by a hapless fuck-buddy/alma gemela bringing you juice and some advil.

Abby and Marcus had made a drunken, tequila-fueled bet that since they were best friends and had known each other when they were three years old it made all sorts of sense that if they fucked they would each wake to a vibrant world of full-spectrum color. They fucked, had a great time and woke up grumpy and colorblind, still. Annoyed wasn’t even the word, and they stomped around each other for weeks after.

The condition highlighted bone-deep loneliness in the people afflicted. The only way they could know a person was to love them without hope, they lived in the uncanny. They were never quite present and/or ever in a familiar place—Some real part of them was missing. 1 out of 40,000 people reported finding their soulmate. The odds were atrocious. Their sorrow wound through life.

Marcus had taken her in his arms and rocked her gently. Whispered to her that friendship was enough. That’s all it was—the myth was just that, a myth. And then she leaned her head back into his neck with the faintest smile and asked, “Love at first sight?”

All the literature on it confirmed the rare conversion occurrences had no rhyme or reason, could happen at any time, between anyone. If your soulmate was out there you could go for years, lives or days—if ever—before finding them. Sometimes it didn’t even happen when the person was right in front of you or in your life for years. No one knew what triggered it.

Abby and Jackson waited. What came bursting through the doors was worse than anything she’d seen in weeks. She moved through the wall of EMTs and Police, who parted for her like the red sea, to the poor soul who lay sprawled helplessly on the rolling stretcher. It was a young woman; her upper face and dark, gorgeous hair matted with glass, gore and her own blood. Her shirt had already been torn in the ambulance, a defibrillator used and discarded and two EMTs riding the cart with her pumped at her chest. They yelled at Abby in code blue jargon, none of it good—the young woman’s lower face and mouth obscured by an oxygen mask.

Barreling in right behind was Clarke and Lexa. Abby glanced up once and registered her daughter and her lover; she saw the other kids crowded behind her. Bellamy, Octavia, Jasper, Monty. She cursed under breath and snapped, “What happened.”

“Mom, it’s Raven—she was hit by a car outside the—” Clarke skidded to a stop grabbing the crash cart to stop her headlong rush into the hall, slipping on blood and almost going down. Abby stared at her daughter uncomprehending, and then, “Holy Christ, Raven?”

“Jackson—get her clothes off,” Abby said while she quickly scanned the girl. “Raven?” She said it with no hope of an answer. Raven was bleeding out, her breathing erratic. Her leg looked crushed, at a desperately awkward angle and her lungs were filling with her own blood.

“Jackson,” Abby said, calm, “stats, please. Now.” She was already in the familiar zone of still point vigilance, completely in control of her responses; the initial horrific shock of recognition forgotten.

“Just got it.” Jackson, paper in an outstretched hand. He read it out. Out of the corner of her eye, Abby saw Clarke flinch away at the insanity being rattled off.

Raven was in respiratory collapse. Her eyes fluttered open, hazy with pain and panic. Her sensory levels altered, she moaned through the mask. They needed to intubate. Abby stroked Raven’s hair and stared back into her eyes, too breathless to speak. She had to find her voice, anything to steady Raven as much as possible.

“I’m sorry, Raven. We need to do this now.”

Raven nodded wearily and closed her eyes again.

The tightness in Abby’s chest eased a little, Raven was responsive but fading. While Abby and Jackson worked she knew that Raven’s eyes had opened again, and she was being watched, assessed. Raven’s eyes were preternaturally bright. Her torn shirt stretched over the swell of her breasts beneath her dark, sweat-stained bra. A smear of blood across her stomach.

Clarke cursed out loud and shook her head to clear it. Raven would not die. Not on her mom’s watch. “Mom, please.”

Raven tried to speak, she grasped Abby’s hand as she did so, but her body shook convulsively.

“Okay, Clarke, step back, sweetheart. Go with the rest. Wait in the lobby. I’ll come get you when we’re done.” She motioned to Jackson, “We’re doing this now,” Abby said.

She opened a laryngoscope and held Raven’s jaw, pressing in to open her mouth and move her tongue out of the way. She slid the instrument in and maneuvered it so she could see down Raven’s throat. She couldn’t see anything. She’d have to go in blind.

Abby slid the endotracheal tube in and slowly worked it down. When she felt resistance she pushed gently. The swollen tissue gave, and she waited for the resistance to ease. Raven’s eyes flew open and focused on Abby. Abby could do this in her sleep. She would go by feel if she had to, but she needed to see Raven conscious and not lose her. She looked back and said, “Raven, this will be uncomfortable. It will hurt. Do you understand?”

Raven’s hand grabbed her by her collar and held her in an iron grip. Good, she was strong. Abby held Raven’s eyes and didn’t look away; she could see Raven was crying in pain and confusion. In all the years she’d known Raven, Abby had never seen her cry.

“Just watch me. Raven. Don’t you dare look away,” Abby said. Jackson held Raven down when she shook violently. Somewhere a machine beeped and tones screamed, overrode any of Abby’s other instincts and a furious determination took over.

“Time's up,” Raven whispered, but that was impossible, Abby was hearing things. She couldn’t have said anything around the tube.

Raven had almost stopped breathing, her burning eyes held Abby gently, as if to say. Don’t worry. No one will miss me. I’ll be alright. She stared into Raven’s eyes. Her hands steady on the tube. Everything about her went soft, quiet. She eased the trach deeper into Raven’s throat.

“Easy, honey. Come on now, do it for me.” Abby’s coaxed. Jackson didn’t know whom she was talking to. Probably everyone and no one; probably Raven, but Abby never talked to patients. No matter what, Abby stayed silent. He’d seen nothing like it before. He watched in awe as Raven and Abby held on to only each other. Abby was doing the procedure subliminally; she was talking as softly as she could into Raven’s ear, bent low over her, “I’m right here. Hold on.”

“BP is sixty-four over forty, heart-rate irregular. She’s going down.” Jackson said.

“Shut up, Jackson,” Abby murmured.

The only safe place Raven found was Abby. She felt like puking. She felt pain like she’d never experienced before. She listened to Abby. She was suffocating and seeing bizarre images. She was seeing color. Color flooded her senses, and she blinked rapidly. Her eyes felt like a thousand flashes of exploding galaxies were pricking her.

Every moment, every second, and every lifetime she’d been in Abby’s presence; it all flooded through her like the oxygen she desperately needed. Frantic, she focused on Abby’s intense, haunting eyes, the sculpted line of her jaw, and the utter stillness in her expression.

Hallowed, vibrant with intelligence and love, brilliant. Raven saw it happen; Abby’s eyes went from midnight black to amber shot through with gold.

Abby’s eyes widened and heat sparked in them. Raven as overcome by lightning across a lake at sunset, the winds rising before a storm. Abby placed her hand against Raven’s cheek for a fraction of a second, pinning Raven with an expression of pure joy and then she ripped off the mask that covered her mouth.

“Good girl, good girl. You’re a fucking miracle.” Abby said. “Jackson, she’s ready for the OR. Call it up, now.”

Abby turned away and Raven felt like the sun had gone behind the clouds; she closed her eyes against the sudden assault of the whole new world. The dawn of time. The colors, the feelings. It eclipsed her pain entirely, and the last loopy, hilarious thought she had was whatever the fuck anesthetic they gave me, it’s awesome.  
  
Abby slammed into the stairwell right off the trauma ward and staggered to her knees, hyperventilating. The colors bombarding her—a psychedelic kaleidoscope—a riot of unknown realities overwhelmed her. Everything was unrecognizable. Her reality shattered and occurring at the very limit of what was possible. Everything transformed into what was visible, into vast oceans of existence flowing out of Raven, over Abby, over the stairs like fog towards her, flowing everywhere. Some full-spectrum liquid enveloped her existence, something dark and glittering, all nuances in every conceivable color she had ever studied held within it.

The living opalescent of Raven was so intense. Abby reeled in an aura of frightening strangeness. All was new. All was sacred. This couldn’t be. This couldn’t fucking be. It was impossible.  _Raven. What the hell?_

 


	2. Doctor Mechanic: Accidental Marriage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby's in Vegas for a conference and it only takes two days for her to fall down the rabbit hole. Vegas is really fucked up. But kind of awesome.

She’s there for a week.

After enduring a red-eye she spends the first interminable day in endless closed-door meetings, catered lunches and drinks with funders and donors.

She’s the lead researcher. Marcus is much better at the games and the politicking, but he’s not as beautiful as she is (he does have great hair) and he’s still learning to be charming. Doctor Abigail Griffin is an intelligent, gracious, sophisticated woman in a sea of idiots. None of them, the rest of her team, have anything to worry about. They’ll reach their fund-raising goal within five hours of her landing in Las Vegas. Instead of calling them she decides to just do whatever she wants with her time. Really, this conference might ruin her life.

The software boys invite her to the after hour strip clubs when they realize she can drink them all under the table, but she begs off that first night. Marcus is flying in 6 days from now for the Keynote with Sinclair, maybe they can all go together to one of the more upscale places. Marcus is hilarious when he’s drunk and Sinclair would be delightful company.

The tech bros are realizing they have no chance of getting her into bed. They look just out of puberty—all newly minted tech billionaires. Why they decided to have this conference in Vegas is not beyond her. They're legitimately sociopathic twits—if they want to throw their money at her and her project, great. It’s better than dealing with the DOD.

The objectives are simple on paper. Augmented reality systems created to overlay relevant information required during surgery—pre-operative images, lab test results and details of previous surgeries. A patient’s whole history at their fingertips in less time than it takes to think it.

 _“We look forward to exploring how smart software could help give surgeons the information they need at just the right time during an operation.”_  It was a good press release.

Her life sciences team develops systems that detect cancer and heart attacks using nanoparticles, and they work on smart contact lenses that contain sensors capable of monitoring the signs of diabetes – technology that was licensed by the Swiss drug firm Infinity Corps, LTD in July 2014 to develop for practical medical application.

And then, somehow, she ends up sitting next to a kid who looks like he just discovered Pro-Activ at some stupid party Jasper and Monty drag her to—and no surprise, she’s already really tired of being leered at by hormonal disasters in fleece and flip-flops. She makes her excuses to the boys and slips out. They blink at her in surprise.

* * *

She has a slight, lovely buzz. She drives back to her hotel with the top down on her rental, and slips up to her room in one piece and has a great time doing it. She throws her Louboutins against the wall and then picks them up again and leaves them neatly near her suitcase, just because, and dials a number her oldest friend, a prominent senator, gave her.

It’s a proxy number, so she waits for the line to be scrambled, waits some more for the calm, modulated voice on the other end to vet her background check and credit records and then she keys in her code, password and confirms her appointment for an hour later.

She showers quickly and slips into the lush hotel robe, orders room service, an assortment of liquor, dims the lights, opens the curtains so the cityscape unfolds in front of her and mixes herself a drink as she waits.

* * *

Her guest is a stunning young woman dressed in an elegant, beautifully cut Prada suit and a fitted white shirt open to expose the hint of firm, perfect breasts, And because Abby is a shoe whore she notices she’s wearing ridiculously expensive Dolce & Gabbana, low-heeled black boots. 

Dark, luxurious layered hair—a color between chestnut brown and light amber—falls around her shoulders and down her back. She has a strong, lithe athletic body and a stunning, open smile. She doesn’t seem to fear anything at all. Abby notices her eyes. They’re alight with barely suppressed good humor, like this is unmanageably absurd, and they sparkle with sharp intelligence.

“Hi.”

“Hello. I’m—”

“You don’t have to give me your name. Unless you want to.“

“Probably best.“ Abby agrees and steps away from the door to let her in. She loves the young woman’s easy grace—her unconscious and natural charisma. She seems unaware of how beautiful she is, or she doesn’t care. That’s fantastic.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

The girl slips her jacket off and faces the windows for a minute, and then turns back to her client. “What do you feel like doing tonight?”

“I have two hours,” Abby says with a hint of ice, needing to take a little control back after being knocked off balance by the girl’s, well, everything. “Early meetings tomorrow.”

The girl smiles once again and she looks stupidly attractive doing it. Then, she’s all business. “Go stand by the window. Keep the curtain open.”

Abby does as she’s told. The young woman sips the drink Abby handed her and watches the lights below ghost around her disconcertingly beautiful client.

“You know what I asked for? My preferences?” Abby surprises herself; she’s acting like an amateur. Blurting things out like that when obviously this woman read her preferences. She knows exactly what Abby needs. That’s her job.

She feels shy and sexy. God, it’s been so long. Years. Since Jake died. All the work she’s done—all the posturing, maneuvering, relentless stress and ambition. The research aside, she’s been at the mercy of her dreams and her dreams come at a cost. She’s desperately lonely.

Her outburst gets a smile.

“Hey,” Abby says and extends her hand, “I need a moment.”

The girl places her fingers gently against her hips and warm lips press against the corner of Abby’s mouth, an ephemeral promise that Abby responds to by melting into the girl.

“I’m yours however you want me, we can throw your rule book out,” The girl whispers, “I’m pretty sure we can find some way to—“

Abby shivers, disoriented, because she is very, very sure what she wants this woman to do. She’s extremely aware of the strength in the girl’s fingers, as they press gently against her skin, solid and present.

Being held by this stranger is like standing too close to a fire. It’s the humor and hints of compassion that makes Abby uneasy. It’s too real. It’s deeply satisfying in a way she hasn’t responded to in years.  _I want what we’ll do, all of it._

Abby is always thinking, always on. She has too many responsibilities to let her guard down, the consequences—

Abby focuses on the glorious face inches away from her own. The woman’s hands slide up her sides to cradle her shoulders, map them, smooth the tension from them, “God, you need something, anything right now, don’t you?”

Abby starting to disassociate. She’s vaguely aware of her growing excitement, and the expanding warmth in her chest.

“Kiss me.” The girl’s hands fall to the knot around Abby’s waist and she begins to undo it, taking her time; stroking the soft, warm skin she uncovers as she goes.

Helpless, disconcerted, and narcotized with lust, Abby leans in and covers the other woman’s mouth with her own. It’s a distant, odd thing to do until the girl kisses gently over Abby’s cheeks, forehead, and ears. She slips her hand underneath Abby’s robe and settles it next to her heart.

As a doctor, Abby should be alarmed at her own response. She’s breathing erratically; overcome by a primal rush of heat, making unintelligible sounds. Her mind reels, doesn't recognize the situation, reads it as radically untenable. Her body is roaring to life and eclipsing thought.

She can feel the insistence of the girl’s explorations, her tongue gently tracing her own, doing quite lovely things. The way the girl tastes like the bourbon and something else underneath that are entirely her—warmth, exhilaration, possibilities, vibrant color; like the first days of autumn when the air is cold under a still hot sun.

She tastes like Abby’s childhood walking through the woods, along trails at dusk on her way home to a fire. The girl pulls away slowly, pushing Abby’s robe off her shoulders, halfway down her upper arms. She shifts her leg between Abby’s thighs, holding her up against the window.

Her hands trail up and down Abby’s arms, waiting. Abby can only breathe into the touch. She kisses Abby again; lazy at first until their bodies start touching, and then she's pulling less gently at Abby’s robe. She’s asked for this. She hoped for it.

Slender fingers trace over her, easing back up to her throat and cupping her face. Abby’s head is pushed back, her neck exposed, her hands entangled somehow in the fabric of her robe, pinned there and disarmed.

"I’m going to come if you—“

“You’ll come when I tell you."

Abby has nothing to say to that.

"I think, later, you’re going to put those beautiful shoes back on, just them and nothing else. I love that; I want your legs wrapped around me and four-inch heels digging into my back. I like it that way. I like a little pain. And then you’re going to get on your knees for me.”

Abby, all of a sudden out of nowhere, thinks that’s the best idea she’d ever heard of.

* * *

When Abby wakes, she’s alone. A quick glance at the clock says it’s 4:30 AM. She rolls over on to her back and blushes like a goddamn kid.

_“You’re crying.” The girl reaches over to wipe the tears from Abby’s face, “It happens, you know. Almost anything can happen when—was that the first time you’ve asked for something like this?”_

_Abby shakes her head, “No. Not the first. I need it to be this way sometimes. I need to not be in control. I need—someone else to take over for awhile.” She smiles, embarrassed. “But yes, this is the first time I’ve cried.”_

_And then she laughs, “For Christ’s sake, it’s just some light role-play. I don’t know what’s going on. You’re exceptionally good at it. Sorry.”_

_“I am good,” the girl rakes her hands through her hair and laughs softly._

_“And charming as hell, and—and fucking sexy,” Abby says, “and modest.”_

_The girl smiles widely and leans down to kiss her, “Something else, then. Can I do anything for you? We could just talk.” Her expression sobers, “I know sadness too; I know it when I see it. This isn’t just release or a reaction to what we did.”_

_Abby hesitates and then breathes a regretful no. “I’m—It’s too much for one night—and not very interesting.”_

_“We’ll probably never see each other again if that makes a difference.”_

_“It should,” Abby reaches up and runs her thumb over the girl’s lower lip, “You’ve been wonderful. Thank you.”_

* * *

Abby sees the note only after she steps out of the shower, dresses and watches the sunrise over the city. She reads the note as she presses her face into one of the pillows. The room smells like sex and oddly, cedar wood. One of her favorite scents. She's losing her mind.

_“This goes against every protocol the agency has so don’t report me please—we can’t request clients—but if you’d like to see me again, I’m here. PS burn this note. PPS have a good day. :)“_

* * *

The day's a total waste. The smiley face emoticon the note ends with—incongruous and silly given the amount of money and orgasms exchanged—makes Abby laugh at incredibly inappropriate moments.

At one point she tells Jasper to just tape an entire plenary session because she just can't. Monty side-eyes her hard, and that makes it worse. She ignores all her calls from Marcus, Sinclair, and Jaha that day. They aren't here for another few days, so fuck them.

* * *

Her fingers drift down Abby’s chest, ghosting over her neck, her collarbone, her breasts and then she undoes the buttons of her blouse. She leans back a bit watching Abby, her expression inscrutable.

She’d walked in without a word, stripped off her shirt, and with just a glance at Abby she’d forgone any conversation, strode over and eased right into her personal space.

It was just a look—and Abby’s sure she can see  _everything_ —she takes Abby’s head between her hands, slides her fingers into her hair and kisses her deeply—intimately and slowly—biting down softly on her lower lip. The kiss is so blatantly sincere and it takes Abby so off-guard that she grips helplessly at the girl’s shoulders, unbearable desire curling up her spine, all of her heat pooling between her legs. It feels so overwhelmingly good.

And then the girl lets Abby’s lip go, soothes it with her tongue. She brings her body flush against Abby, just enough for Abby to feel taken care of, oddly safe.

Abby drifts back to herself slowly; her constant darkness and loneliness fall away. She breathes out and as the girl traces her leg. Touch starved, Abby shivers with pleasure when the girl skims up between her breasts and then down along her spine, kneading softly.

The other thing she notices from somewhere far away is that the girl is packing, and her eyes practically roll back in her head. She pulls away just far enough to reach between their bodies to loosen her belt.

The girl wraps her hand around Abby’s wrists and brings her lips just to hers and murmurs, “I thought we were done.”

The next words out of Abby, as she shakes her head against the silken warmth of the girl’s mouth are, "We’re not done until I know what it feels like to be used.”

* * *

The girl stills for such a long time Abby starts to say something and then her grip on her wrists tighten painfully and Abby gasps, despite herself, and falls forward into another deep, dizzying kiss. The girl’s lips are soft and demanding and—her voice is—her confidence—is— 

“Okay, easy. Breathe,” The girl says softly. Abby's eyes flutter open in time to see her face light up with a smile of such sweetness and beauty that she only needs a minute and then she nods in assent.

The girl’s hand is motionless inside her—has been for god knows how long. Her silken wetness gathers and floods over the girl’s forearm. Abby takes a startled, shattered breathe and holds as still as she’s able to.

Abby rests, surrendering to the frightening sensation of being flayed open—everything she is—centered on that one point of connection.

A belt is looped around her neck, held tight enough for her to feel the soft leather constrict against her skin whenever she tries to move her head back from where the girl has it angled, so she can see what’s being done to her and she can feel herself struggle ineffectually, helpless.

She’s trembling—she can’t help it—sweat beading down from her temples, and mixing with spontaneous tears of pleasure, surprise, and frustration that gather and fall at the corners of her eyes and down her cheek, her neck, onto the tangled, damp sheets beneath them.

The girl hovers above her, fully clothed, whispering into her ear. She wraps the end of the belt one more time around her fingers and she jerks on it sharply to get Abby’s attention. Abby moans and opens her eyes as the hand that’s been filling her for so long is withdrawn, leaving her empty and desperate, and the girl raises it slowly, trails it up her stomach, over her breasts to her shoulders to draw her bra straps down over both her shoulders so that the material falls just below her aching, taut nipples, exposing them for the first time tonight. 

Abby feels like she’s been set free, given some tether, allowed some literal release after hours of needing it and she wants to cry she feels so grateful— _or something_ —and she tilts her head further towards the warm mouth against her ear—who keeps on saying unbelievably, humiliating awful shit about—Abby's admitted to it, whatever it was, her murmured suggestions makes Abby slip further into an abyss, barely coherent with shame and pleasure. 

She’s already been driven out of her mind by the wet, warm tongue that traced her whole body for so long and the strong, sure fingers that had spread her wetness up and down, again and again from the hard tip of her clit to her ass, but wouldn’t fill her, kept her empty and wanting until her vision blurred, until the girl’s whole hand had entered her so easily,  _finally_ , that she didn’t realize what was happening until her body instinctively contracted around it and she’d been thrown into a whole new level of desperation.

She needs to be pushed open and stroked deeply, for hours. But the girl stops and just watches her, pulling at her lead so that Abby’s head and eyes are forced to meet hers.

“Keep going,” Abby begs. 

She gets a startling, sharp slap for that and the girl shakes her head as she pulls away.

“Clean my hand,” she says easily enough, sounding clinical and disappointed all at the same time, “lick yourself off of me. Wrap your legs around me, tighter.” 

Abby obeys immediately and in her unraveling doesn’t see the girl hesitate and lower her voice softly, murmuring an endearment, her expression deeply vulnerable as Abby's thighs slide further around her waist and back up her torso, shifting herself down until her heels dig viciously into the girl’s back. Abby can’t tell what the hell is happening anymore. The pleasure is beginning to become unbearable, coiling tight—deep in her belly—and threatening to overwhelm her.

“Good girl,” and Abby almost comes just like that before the girl slaps her again across the face and shocks her out of it.

Abby hisses at the contact, the pain heightening her raw desire after being denied over and over. The girl rewards her by bending down and licking at her neck and then drifting lower—taking in one nipple, sucking it into the heat and pressure of her mouth and worshipping it with her teeth and tongue as Abby watches. When the girl’s eyes slip shut, she thinks she might lose her mind.

She wrenches her head forward as far as she can and slides her mouth up her neck and against the girl’s ear, but the difference is she’s desperate and she doesn’t care what she sounds like anymore or even who she is, or what she’s asking for. She could legitimately give a fuck about anything right now.

Abby takes a deep breath because she knows she’s not supposed to ask, not supposed to do anything but submit, but she has to ask because she will probably die if she doesn’t. “ _Please_ ”

She can't keep her own eyes open; she’s just mindlessly seeking purchase. She’s begging. And through her frenzy, she hears the girl echoing her—soft, wild moans mix with her own demands and pleas _begging her_  to take her as deep as she can.

Abby is—she can’t believe this. She’s never begged for anything in her life, and she’s not only pleading and whining frantically but the girl is matching her, word for word, a fraction less out of control than Abby feels—but the same words are pouring out of her mouth. The same heat and leashed violence is cresting for both of them—and when she sucks the girl’s earlobe into her mouth, hard, for just a few seconds, it gets her so wet again that she can feel it course through her and mix with the sweat dripping from the other woman’s body, who now feels naked to Abby despite her clothes. 

_“I need you.”_

Without releasing the belt, the girl rears up and undoes her pants and pulls the cock out. In one easy motion, she hauls Abby closer to the edge of the bed and begins to rub it's head through her wet folds, just fucking the outside of her cunt slowly, exhibiting such unbelievable self-control Abby absently wonders if she’s just play-acting. 

The horrifying, embarrassing thought rips thru Abby’s haze and throws her rudely into a very, very strange place. Her rational mind ascends abruptly and coldly. This is all just a scene. This isn’t real; she’s paid for this. Her shame is brutal and quick and scathing, and it’s not a turn-on. She’s mortified, she's too exposed, too raw, too much and the girl is just doing a job.  _This wasn’t—pathetic—_

This time, the slap is sharper and more painful than the others. It snaps her head to the side and her attention back to what's happening. The girl rests between her legs and right at her center, waiting.

“Don’t you dare,” the girl’s voice is quiet. “Don’t you fucking dare leave me here alone.  Trust this. Trust yourself. You think I’m doing this because I need the money? You think I’m playing you? You think this is a joke to me?” 

She inches in farther, stretching Abby deliberately and slowly. She loosens the belt and slides it off her neck, replacing it with a gentle hand and draws Abby up to kiss her, “God, you really do. You don’t think you’re worth any of this. You think you’re not worth my—“

She thrusts into Abby so deeply and roughly that both of them lose control of the kiss, heedless of the mess they make of it.

The girl’s voice stutters and stops and Abby feels her gather herself together before she finally says, under her breath, sliding her tongue along the roof of Abby’s mouth and over her top lip before dipping back to take her again, “Jesus Christ, you have no idea how beautiful you are. How much I want you.”

The thickness of the shaft is more than Abby’s used to, but she doesn’t care, she loves the stretch and the drag of it, the slight pain underneath the pleasure—the feeling of being entirely filled. She watches the girl strip her own shirt off with graceful ease. The slow, building rhythm she’s set spreads warmth throughout Abby's body, more heat ans need than she's known in years and she starts to cry as the girl whispers, “God, look at you. You’re beautiful.”

She’s brought Abby to a point where there’s nothing else she craves, there’s no other thought in her world except taking anything the girl gives her, however, she wants to.

The girl undoes her own bra and slides it off her shoulders and Abby instinctively sits up from where she had been roughly pushed down again, still riding the cock, to take a glorious nipple into her mouth until the girl’s hand reaches down simultaneously to fondle her clit.

Abby slams her body so violently down onto the strap-on that the girl curses, surprised, under her breath, and abandons her clit and starts to fuck her mercilessly.

There’s no more thought given to her comfort level, Abby sees that last bit of control sparks out of her eyes. This is beyond what they’d agreed to. If she wants to stop it, she can. The unspoken question is does she want to. She knows that.

Their kisses are lewd as hell: sloppy, dirty and real. And Abby hasn’t felt real in a very, very long time. She’s ridiculously about to have the best orgasm of her life.

She wants this woman. She wants this beautiful woman to fuck her silly. She _is_  being fucked senseless. She wants to mark the girl in some way and she would but she’s being claimed so thoroughly and with such abandon, she can’t do anything except drown in it. And God, she wants to feel this.

“Oh, fuck.” The girl wraps Abby against her, roughly, and gasps her need into Abby’s mouth.

The girl is  _lost_ , and Abby finally realizes that this wild beautiful woman is as far gone as Abby is—and as a lapsed Catholic she’s  _so_  here for this.

This young woman is going to send them both into oblivion, soaked with Abby’s come and drinking all of her in as they go. Abby's letting her do anything she wants—and she allows the girl to feel the strength of her own lust.

Abby wants so badly to come for her—as hard as it’s building to a crest—that she loses her grip on reality and goes into a suspended state of euphoria, just hovering on the edge as the girl gets control of herself and eases back a little.

She leans over Abby on her forearms and says, “Watch me. Open your eyes and look at me.”

Abby grabs hold of two sweat-slicked, toned and flexing arms, and for the first time she can remember, she obeys.

The girl’s eyes dilate impossibly and it’s so wildly intimate that Abby flushes with care, with warmth, with a need to cradle her and bring her in as deep as she’s willing to go for as long as she wants. It’s breathtaking. She’s forcing the girl higher, even as she becomes more and more lost and unhinged in the pleasure coursing through every nerve and channel of her bloodstream, she’s scared. It’s scary where she is. She hovers forever in the place they’ve found together still looking into each other’s eyes, daring the other into an infinite free-fall.

When her orgasm hits, the girl kisses her hard, and somehow manages to keep their mouths together and keep her eyes open, God knows how, and when Abby sees her smile—triumphant and ecstatic as Abby’s entire being shatters in a prolonged pulsing, sustained wave after wave of pleasure—she’s pretty sure she loses consciousness.

The girl helps her ride through the aftershocks in a long, suspended moment. The girl’s body is trembling, and she’s breathing hard.

“Oh, baby,” Abby whispers, “Let me.”

The girl nods yes, and Abby slides the toy out of herself with a small wince of regret and quickly undoes the harnesses and the whole stupid contraption and slips it off her.

“Let me,” she says again, “Please.”

She buries her tongue into the girl’s wet, swollen cunt and tastes her sharp, tangy, sweet—so sweet—depths. She feels the pulsing life and strength of her, and she takes as much in as she can before the girl comes. 

It’s too fast; she must have been on an edge as long as Abby was. She arches off the bed, flooding Abby's mouth and throat with her taste.

Abby works her to another, quieter orgasm. She licks at her for a long time, flattening her tongue in long, languid strokes, drinking her in, committing what she can to memory. Then she lays her head against her thigh and closes her eyes and listens, just listens to the deeply satisfied sounds coming from the back of the girl’s throat.

Abby eventually kisses up her lithe, strong body and takes her into her arms.

She tugs a warning through her hair when the girl tries to suggest that she doesn’t have to do this, and reminds her softly that she wouldn't do anything she didn't want to. Abby’s rewarded with a simple, grateful kiss.

They drift in each other’s arms and the girl falls asleep murmuring incoherently against her neck as Abby strokes her hair and blessedly thinks of absolutely nothing.

When Abby wakes at 4:30 AM, she’s alone again. There is no note this time.

* * *

She's even more stunning than Abby remembered—it's a jolt of pleased recognition—and she whistles low when Abby opens the door.

She leans in for a very chaste, sweet kiss on Abby’s cheek and smiles, “The whole night, huh? I’m flattered.”

Abby hands her a drink, “Not surprised, though.”

“See? You know me so well already,” The girl raises an eyebrow over the rim of her glass. 

“Serious question,” the girl takes a large swallow of her drink, “You’re stunning, I mean  _Jesus_ , you’re gorgeous. You could have anyone, you could have anything you want, any way you want it. Why this? Why this way?” She puts the glass down and stares at Abby very seriously, genuinely curious. “No strings?”

“Something like that. You?” Abby says.

“Student loans are a bitch.” the girl shrugs. “You’ve saved me from some of the major software executives. They’re bananas; seriously batshit requests you have no idea—and they pay really well. These conferences are a goldmine.” She rolls her eyes, annoyed just thinking about it, “You cannot even imagine, nor would you want to. So, thank you.”

“My name is Abby,” Abby blurts out.

The girl’s expression remains calm, her only tell a slight tightening of her jaw. There's a long silence, and then, “Erin.”

Erin removes her light jacket and rolls up her sleeves. She steps into Abby’s body and draws her hands through Abby’s hair and kisses her deep and slow, “Hi, Abby. I have something for you tonight.”

* * *

Abby, when she finally catches her breath, looks up at Erin. She gets up from where she kneels on the floor between Erin’s legs and grabs the sheet that's fallen unnoticed while she’d brought her to an intense orgasm (like, the fourth one already) with her tongue and teeth and fingers, everything she had really.

Abby pulls the sheet up to just below her waist and says, “Peyote?”

Erin brings her mouth to Abby’s, licks herself off of Abby’s lips, makes a pleased sound, “It doesn’t matter if you trust me. That’s what you’re paying for. And yes, peyote.”

Abby just stares at her.

“Or, not?” Erin says, “It’s up to you. We could keep doing a number of things I’ve dreamed up for us, we could go all night. Or we could have a dozen consciousness-expanding and sensation-magnifying hallucinations, visions of God, instant psychoanalysis, telepathy, and various creepy and/or ecstatic sensations nobody has yet been able to verbalize. Sexual fulfillment beyond anything imaginable.” Erin wiggles her eyebrows, adorable. Abby bursts out laughing.

“I happen to like consensual reality,” Abby says, “Like, a lot.”

“Abby,” and this time, it's Erin who kneels gently between her legs, “Something’s got you stuck. I recognize it because I know it. It’s in me too. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since yesterday. Tell me what it is, or don’t. But I want to help.”

After coming so hard she nearly passes out, Abby looks Erin straight in the eyes, her face set, “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Erin hums her agreement and continues to stroke Abby lightly between her legs.  She arches into her touch, legs slipping around Erin’s hips into the warm press of her body. And then the visions start and Abby, quite literally, loses herself in space-time.

By the fifth or sixth hour, when the hallucinations pass and a typically benevolent tranquility settles through both of them, sex becomes an unspeakably sacred and ecstatic experience.

They make love with the Earth and the Sky, and laugh hysterically because that's ridiculous and amazing, ( _in an energetic and emotional way_ , Erin says and then laughs so hard she cries) as Erin brings Abby to climax again and again under the startling map of stars they can see through the room’s window. Afterward or whenever, because time's relative, Abby suggests a walk.

* * *

They dress and head out into the cool night, the concierge helpfully points them in the direction of a trail towards the open desert just beyond the hotel’s pool. The moonlight is so bright; they can pick their way without any trouble. 

“Jake. His name is Jake, was Jake.” Abby says. “My husband. He was in a horrible accident. When they brought him in, no one recognized him.” Abby’s tears come freely, and she's caught up in how soft and transformative they feel against her skin, like a baptism. 

Erin squeezes her hand and stops her. Abby turns towards her and kisses her and continues, “I was the Trauma Surgeon on call that night. I operated on him. The unspoken rule of Medicine is that you don’t administer to your loved ones. It’s the most important one, besides Do No Harm.”

Abby becomes acutely aware of the sensuality of the landscape; its honesty, the love in every grain of sand, in the wind.

“You didn’t save him. You think he died because of you.” Erin murmurs and strokes her fingers over the necklace Abby wore, the wedding ring it holds. “You didn’t take this off last night, or tonight.”

Abby nods, “Smart girl.” 

And then she really bursts into tears. She cries like she hasn’t cried in years. This is nothing compared to what happened the night before. This is despair and hurt and hopelessness. It pours out of Abby so violently and unrelenting that she almost loses consciousness. She's only vaguely aware when Erin’s arms come around her when they sink down in the sand and sagebrush together, and then Erin just rocks her gently as she sobs. 

They stay like that for an eternity. Erin’s fingers sweep through Abby’s hair, again and again, she brushes Abby’s face and forehead and temple with her lips over and over as she murmurs into Abby’s ear, “You’re okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

“My daughter blames me,” Abby says after a while, wrapped in Erin’s warmth and gazing into the sky. “Nothing I’ve done since has made me feel anything. I feel like nothing, no matter what I do, no matter who I’m with.”

And then, because they’re nomads tonight like they’ve eaten the heart of the earth and the world is so bright around them; Abby takes the necklace off and slides her wedding ring into her hand and just looks at it. It’s beautiful.

“I’m sorry,” Erin says simply.

The world as it is shifts and changes before their eyes. The colors, the shapes, the sky pulsates like milk in dark blue liquid—the horizon encircling them like a chain of diamonds.

“Look around you, Abby,” Erin whispers, “Every plant, every stone, everything has its own clearly visible, beautifully oscillating soul. You deserve to be happy.”

Abby feels, rather than sees, the waves/particles vibrating with life, and she and Erin entangle themselves up in one another in a loving heap of confused limbs and watch the moon descend.

“I can feel the pulse in this rock,” Abby breathes.

“You’re lying on top of me,” Erin giggles.

“Yes,” Abby said, feeling as free as she ever has, “Yes I am.”

And she bends down to kiss Erin, this beautiful girl, this miracle.

* * *

Abby wakes up in her hotel bed, not alone.

Her wedding ring is on her ring finger and Erin’s sprawled halfway on top of her. That’s nearly impossible to fathom because she hasn’t slept through a single night with anyone since Jake died. She hasn’t allowed it. And then she sees a similar ring on Erin’s hand. One that hadn’t been there before, she’s sure of it.

Panic sends her nerve-endings into an orchestral, cacophonic defcon-1 mode. She sits straight up in bed and unceremoniously launches Erin off of her and on to the floor with a hard thud.

“What the FUCK,” Erin sounds small, sleepy, hurt and homicidal all at the same time.

Without answering, Abby reaches down and grabs Erin’s hand and holds it up to her face. Erin blinks at it and what’s on it and says nothing, obviously stunned. 

“Oh. Holy shit.” She manages. 

When Abby just glares and doesn’t answer her she shifts into high-functioning fixer, logical as hell mode, fast. “Okay. Well. We got carried away, didn’t we? Wow, we are assholes. Okay. To file for an annulment in Nevada, one of us has to live in Nevada for at least six weeks prior to filing and we have to provide basic information about uh—me, you, our marriage and grounds for an annulment.”

“OUR MARRIAGE?” Abby yells, and then more practically, “I CANNOT live here for six weeks.”

“For real, I can’t either.”

“You don’t live here?” Abby growls.

“No. I’m here on business. And my new job wouldn’t allow it, either.”

Abby looks at her blankly, “I thought this,” she gestures between them, “was your business.”

Erin rolls her eyes, offended. “Student loans, remember? Jesus, Abby.”

She pushes herself up and roots around the room for her clothes and snaps, “I have a meeting in two hours.”

Abby watches her, speechless.

“Is this what you do?” She finds her voice, “Marry your wealthy clients, no pre-nup, and—“

Erin whirls on her, “You finish that sentence and I swear to god, Abby, I will make sure everyone in your entire world knows what you sound like when—jesus, just stop talking.”

Abby takes a deep breath to calm herself and rubs her face with her hands. When she speaks again, it’s softer, apologetic. “Erin, I’m sorry.”

“I’m as freaked out as you are, believe me.” Erin reaches for Abby’s phone and enters her information, waves it around to show Abby. “Listen, I really do have to go. I’m not lying about any of it. I do have a new job and I do have a meeting. We’ll figure this out, okay? I promise you.”

“Your money—“

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Abby. You’re not paying me for last night, okay?” Now, Erin’s furious.

Abby sits up in bed and grabs a pillow. Just to do something, anything.

Erin looks at her, completely transparent, hurt and angry and then she turns and walks out, slamming the door on her way. Abby sits, stunned, feeling as exposed as she ever has, and ashamed.

* * *

Abby gets the phone call not ten minutes later. She’s barely moved. “Yes?”

“Abby, It’s Marcus. I’ve got Sinclair with me.”

“Are you in Vegas? Four days early? Why on earth—“

“No, we’re still in DC. Thelonious is with us. We bribed him to come,” She can hear Jaha’s delighted laugh in the background and a muted oh my god, DC is a hell-hole, I hate it. Save me. “We need to see you as soon as possible, we have great news,“ He sounds giddy, “can you fly back here, skip a day at the conference and meet us in DC? We’ll all fly back together.”

Abby sighs, happy to hear his voice. Happy to step back into a world she knows and excels at. Happy to be seeing her friends, “God, yes. When and where?”

* * *

Abby finds them all easily. Crunchy, tree-hugging hippies that they are, they wanted to meet at the Great Mall. It’s cherry blossom season. Abby jogs the last few yards and straight into Marcus’s arms. He kisses her roundly and then Thelonius and Sinclair crowd them and they double hug her. Jasper and Monty wave to her, they flew back separately and Jasper’s making a little grass and flower weaving with the fallen pink and white petals; because of course he is.

“Wow, you look like shit,” Marcus says happily.

Abby ignores him, “So what’s the big news? Why’d you rescue me from the 9th circle of Hell?”

“Because Sinclair found us our secret weapon, we found our nano-tech quantum engineer. Once she comes on board we won’t even need to ask for funding. She’s so good they’ll be throwing money at us.” Thelonius slips his hands in his pockets and rocks back and forth on his heels, serene and in a perpetual mellow state of mindblow.

Sinclair nods vehemently, and turns to wave at a woman crossing towards them, “She’s coming to meet us right now.”

The sun is behind the woman approaching them, silhouetting her and obscuring her face. Abby has to shield her eyes against the brightness.

Marcus waves to her and takes Abby by the hand, leading her forward. “Abby, meet Raven Reyes, the youngest double post-doc fellow at the MIT’s Kavli Institute For Astrophysics & Space Research and Computer Science and Artificial Intelligence Laboratory —“

Abby lowers her hand and blinks into the blinding light, her eyes slowly focusing. The young woman stops inches away from her, a little too close, and removes her sunglasses. They stare at each other and Raven Reyes finally extends her hand.

Her expression gives nothing away—absolutely nothing. Not anything, not the fact that they spent a lost weekend together, not the little detail that Erin,  _Raven_ , fucked her senseless the first night and she paid for it and that the second night they fucked each other senseless and the third time they made love all night out in the universe somewhere. And certainly not the fact that they’re married. Because,  _holy shit._

Abby can see a flash of confusion and shock briefly in Raven’s beautiful, open features, and then a perfect iron-clad defense mechanism—the mask Abby recognizes because she employs it so often herself—comes slamming down and whatever was there before is replaced by the most chilling, polite, arrogant, challenging and relaxed expression she has ever seen in her life.

“Doctor Griffin.” Raven murmurs.

“Raven.”


	3. Doctor Mechanic: Raven finds out that Abby took the Key to the City of Light to save her life.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After everyone is cured of the City of Light effects, Raven finds out that Abby took the Key to the City of Light to save her life
> 
> Note: deepest apologies to Isaac Asimov

Raven knows.

And if Marcus doesn’t stop with his completely transparent drive-by Dad Face of Deep Compassion and Sinclair doesn’t stop with his good natured Socratic method nerd-outs about what an Artificial Intelligence and organic hybrid actually means—because who really wants to talk about the three laws of Robotics— _A **robot**  may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm. A  **robot**  must obey orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First **Law**. A  **robot**  must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second  **Law**_ — and what went severely wrong and severely right about it because a protean code is not exactly a robot when she’s lived with an awkwardly single-minded AI in her head, well. They need to leave her alone. So when Bellamy comes sailing over one day and just _smiles_ at her she just about punches him in the face.

Bellamy leans down, places a cup of hard liquor in front of her, puts his hand on her neck, and shakes her gently. “Raven, you need to get it together.”

“Why?” she asks, without looking up from her notes, “I mean, hooray for us we survived, but it’s not something I can just forget.”

Clarke comes out of nowhere and, oh great, this is a tag team, and these two are never super subtle to begin with— “Raven, you’re the most intelligent person here, okay? You went to the City of Light, so what—there’s no shame—”

She throws the pages she’s holding at both of them. There is shame. And guilt beyond imagining. And hurt. She’s not off the handle, but neither of them fucking gets it— and she’s extremely through with Clarke, who out of everybody _should_ get it, and _should_ get it intuitively and instinctively. _She’s_ the one who’s batshit in love with an AI-enhanced human.

Raven, to her horrified embarrassment, just bursts into tears and says, “Clarke.” Because she doesn’t know what else to do— she’s held it together for so long and lived with what happened since it happened—and Abby, who’s across the great hall is staring at Raven and it’s all right there—the spine-chilling dread, the _horror_. She can’t hold Abby’s gaze.

Then, because this world truly hasn’t screwed her in every possible way since coming to Earth, Abby’s arm wraps low around Jaha’s back as they both talk with Marcus, and Abby just keeps on watching her. Raven tears her eyes away, gets up from the table, and walks out, leaving Clarke and Bellamy alone in mid-sentence.

* * *

She shows up at Abby’s door later like she has for several weeks, shrugging out of her clothes as she walks towards her without a word. Her mood evaporates into need and desire and something else she absolutely refuses to deal with.

The sex is breathtaking. They fucked the first time after the City of Light, desperate for each other, frantic to feel something—their bodies dappled with the blood of Raven’s wrist wounds as the bandages became slick with their sweat and came apart. The bandages disintegrated like Raven does against Abby’s body. And they make love—completely distraught— drag each other into the forest as far away from the others as they can get. Their singular essences mixed with the scent of ionized particles and moss, blood, carnage and the collapse of two planes of consciousness into one another.

And every time since then they’ve gone at each other for hours—it’s not gentle, it’s not really sane; it’s purely animalistic and Abby’s given up trying to calm Raven into anything more. They hardly talk. Raven has never been a coward with Abby, but she will not talk about it, she refuses. Afterwards, always, she leaves.

It’s not that they don’t talk. It’s not silence. Raven traces Abby’s impossibly elegant eyebrows. She kisses her jaw and whispers what she wants and what she’ll do for her as many times as she can. She places her lips on Abby’s soft throat where she lays her head to listen to Abby’s heartbeat, her pulse, as Abby slowly comes back to herself after going so far out. And then, like all the other times she rolls over and sits up.

“Raven?” Abby asks, after catching her breath, after wiping the sweat from her eyes, and after a long moment of studying her. Abby, to her infinite credit, doesn’t move or react or get angry. She just props her head up on her hand and watches Raven pull her clothes on.

Raven shakes her head, kisses Abby fiercely, and heads towards the door.

* * *

Raven feels exhausted. She’s not sure she can half-ass this. She’s not sure she can handle any of it.

“Does someone need to talk to you about your bitch crush on Abby.”

“Thanks, Jasper. I’m good.”

“Because I will help you handle it.”

“No, Jasper. I’m good”

“I—“

“JASPER IT IS ALL GOOD DID YOU NEED SOMETHING?”

* * *

Abby bites Raven’s lower lip as desire takes her over. Abby’s not struggling and she needs Raven deeper. She relaxes and demands Raven take her, as deep as she’s willing to. It’s a challenge, said out loud against Raven’s mouth, taunting her. And she lowers Raven down on top of her until they’re flush; she wraps her arms around Raven’s shoulders, and holds her as Raven takes whatever she needs from her tonight. 

It’s always a little bit different, a little more nuanced and right now Abby doesn’t care about anything except Raven’s strength, her fingers inside of her, filling her and their steady rhythm. She just doesn’t _think_ anymore at some point and starts coming as soon as she’s issued the challenge. It’s indescribable what Raven’s tone of voice, the way she curses softly in response, does to her. 

She remembers the other times they’ve gone this deep, so far out they can barely find their way back, finding sanity between them while chaos remains in Raven’s haunted eyes when she lets herself go and her guard comes down.

Abby closes her eyes, her own anger and hurt at being so needed and so shut out at the same time simmering close to the surface, and she arches her entire body back to extend her agony of pleasure, which otherwise would overwhelm her like a wave. A minute later, the two of them still move together, rocking against each other and bringing themselves back gently or as gently as they can— Abby realizes that she’s released Raven’s arms and there are bright new bruises starting to form. She traces her fingers over them as Raven catches her breath. Abby smoothes her hands over them and then down towards Raven’s wrists and the scars.

“This needs rewrapping,” Abby says absently.

“Don’t.”

Abby reacts instinctively and brutally. She curls her hand around Raven’s neck. Holds her fiercely against her. She’s _never_ done this before but she uses Raven’s weaker leg to her advantage and traps her to her. A woman’s legs are the strongest part of her, and even with all of Raven’s considerable upper body strength she can’t get out of Abby’s embrace. 

“Listen to me, Raven.” Abby says. 

Raven stops struggling, startles and hesitates for a moment, and Abby rolls her over like it’s nothing. She does it lazily, with her maddeningly slow grace and rather obvious intent.

“How long do you think you can fuck me and not talk to me?” It’s posed as a quiet, very serious question. It’s actually a slightly amused statement with a hint of warning—a familiar tone Raven can respond to, and known territory. It’s a trap.

Raven doesn’t quite know what the difference is but Abby’s voice is very soft and it’s heading away from her into shadows she can’t track through. “Be careful how you answer this, Raven.”

Abby’s hand slips between them and down through Raven’s slick, hot arousal. Her fingers hover just at the edge of Raven’s opening, stroking gently—at complete odds with the power play she’s making.

“Talk.”

Raven bites her lip and squeezes her eyes shut as tears start to come. She’s moving against Abby despite herself. “Please, just fu—“ 

“If you ask me to do it, I’ll leave you here.” Abby continues to stroke her patiently. She bends down, licks down Raven’s chest and tongues one of Raven’s nipples before taking it fully into her mouth. She does that for a long time. She does not stop.

And Raven starts to cry. Her hands fall to Abby’s shoulders and under her hair, they stroke down her back and rest, fluttering, on her lower spine. She can feel the coiled strength Abby’s using to control herself—it’s extremely precise and measured. And Raven cries silently when Abby raises her head and kisses the corner of her mouth, and turns Raven’s eyes to meet hers. Abby is crying too. Abby enters her then and holds still, and whispers, “Just feel me, okay? Stay quiet for me. I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.” 

Raven obeys because she wants this. She’s wanted this for so long. 

“I’ve thought about it.” Abby coaxes her gently, “When I think about it I feel like I’m on my own. I don’t—neither of us want to help ourselves here, and we have nothing to say to each other about what happened. That’s okay. There’s no guilt, Raven. You’re tearing yourself apart. You need to stop. I want us to do this together. Do you understand, honey?“

When Raven doesn’t answer, because she can’t, because she’s crying even harder now and can’t catch her breath, Abby cups her jaw and continues, “I took the key too, Raven. I know what it did. I know. We shared that, okay? You’re not alone, and you don’t have to be alone. There’s no shame in it. You were hurting.”

Abby goes on, as if to herself. Her tone is clinical, observant, calm. “What I imagined happened is that for our consciousness, which is malleable and protean, time began to dilate— grieving, hurt, pain in any form is a way to relive an entire life, and a process—“

Abby tries to find the right words,

“Think of it this way—consciousness divides, and then entangles itself. It’s the story we tell ourselves about the emotional and physical self. It’s the way we navigate being. It’s what makes us human. I’m a doctor,” She smiles wryly, “so all of these things make sense in biological, sentient systems as well. We constantly move forward into the future and backwards into the past through our pain, our pleasure, our loves, our memories—and none of it is easy, because memory is fluid. It can hurt. It can lie. That’s how we’re connected to everything and everyone that has ever lived or died or worked through a problem or chose which path they’re going to take. We have free will. We return to the ocean, and Raven, we’ve never seen the ocean let’s go one day, okay? I want to do that with you–“ 

Raven laughs abruptly, delighted despite the crushing sadness pouring out of her, because she wants that too.

“Abby.” She reaches down to stop Abby’s hand, and Abby holds herself still, nuzzles the side of Raven’s nose with her own, “Please. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But you’ve got it all wrong, okay?”

“What did I get wrong?”

“I tortured you. Me, Jackson and Jaha. I know, I saw you. _I was there._ It was me. ALIE was me—I was aware of everything I was doing. I welcomed her. I needed it, like Jasper needed to drink. To get rid of the pain, to alleviate our PTSD.” Raven wipes angrily at her eyes, and watches Abby listening to her.

“Abby,” She says in a broken, small whisper, “When you have a thing like that, a promise of transcendence, it drags you into a constricted space. It’s like, proprietary software, I think? I guess? Mainly, when Monty and I figured out what Becca had done with the nightblood—what the second program was capable of, because we all knew what Lexa was and is—“ Raven struggles to continue. Abby squeezes her hand and stays quiet, waiting.

“It’s like we discovered that Lexa and ALIE 2.0 were the strange attractors we needed to reverse engineer. I mean, the basic mathematical definition of a strange attractor—objects, ideas or whatever—you can trace a chaotic map that way, learn the dynamics of it, and kind of map dissipative systems. You can track a _complete entity._ ALIE 1.0 was not a complete entity; it did not understand us, at all. ALIE 2.0 was qualitatively different. _”_ Raven pauses to see if Abby understands. Abby’s eyes are unfocused and she gives Raven a quick nod of affirmation. Abby’s listening intensely.

Raven picks at the thin blanket covering them, “Shit, even the simplest explanation is going to be pretty baroque. But this wasn’t complicated. She was— _I was torturing you._ You went into the City of Light _, against your will,_ to save me _._ ”

Abby goes very, very still. 

“Abby. I did this to you. I almost killed myself, because ALIE knew somewhere that I wanted to. And she also knew that you would do anything for me; I slit my wrists and was bleeding out. I was actually willing to die to force you to take the key. And you were willing to save my life.” That last bit is said with such tenderness and shyness; Abby can hardly bear to hear it in Raven’s voice.

“That wasn’t you,” Abby finally says, in shock, shakes her head violently. She pushes herself to get the next words out through her rising distress. She can’t imagine what Raven’s being doing to herself all this time. “Raven, Honey, no. No.” 

This is between them. What’s also between them is what Abby did afterwards under extreme coercion. She was willing to torture Kane and hunt her own child down and kill them both. Abby can compartmentalize like a motherfucker. She’s got worlds to atone for, as well. No matter what she’s telling Raven now; it’s all just infinitely easier to help someone else than it is to help yourself.

Then Raven just looks at her, and Abby can see Raven for the first time since the City of Light—really see her— and the level of self-loathing is so next-level awful she flinches away. “Raven, that was not you. Do you know the story of the golem —a creature that was created with the breath of life but without the light of knowledge or the heart? That’s what ALIE was. That’s not you.”

Raven sighs through her tears—how else can she get Abby to understand? “Abby, I wanted to kill myself. ALIE took all of those feelings, all the feelings of everyone she was jacked into and amplified them. If it wasn’t a part of you, she couldn’t use it. So, it was all in me to draw from. ALIE saw such strength in you, resistance beyond anything she’d encountered—besides me—she saw that in you. I know, because she was _me_. You’re a doctor. You heal people. No matter what you’ve done to survive that’s essentially who you are. And ALIE almost killed me to get you, and I _agreed_.” She pushes herself up and hovers over Abby on impossibly strong arms, “Whatever with all this other stuff. You took the key for me. I tortured you.”

“You’re getting stuck in mechanistic control fantasies. It was the program, not you.” Abby snaps, truly frightened and upset now, impatient with it. “Raven. Stop. If you have to, forgive yourself, but I don’t see that you do. You certainly don’t need my forgiveness. I don’t blame you for any of it.”

“I can’t. How have you forgiven Jaha?”

God, this girl is stubborn.

“I’ve known him my entire life. He lost the only thing he loved more than anything. More than his own life. He lost his son. He went against everything he is, because he lost Wells. Do you know he was going to offer himself up with the rest of the volunteers in the Culling?”

Raven did not, and Abby can see the shock all over her face. “But you lost Jake. What’s the difference between you and Jaha and me? Something in you is stronger than we are.”

“Yes, I got Jake killed. I had to find Clarke.” Abby takes a deep breathe and says,” I had to find you. No one survives alone.”

* * *

Abby, in her life as Chancellor, in her life as CSO, in her _life_ , knows a thing or two about the body. It’s a miracle. If you think of the body and what it houses, consciousness and our better angels, it’s a  _shitshow_  of a scene. You’re kind of stuck in it. It breaks down, dies, feels unimaginable pleasure, whatever.

If you think of the body as descended from fish who crawled out of the primordial sea—it’s the most _astonishing_  accomplishment you’ve  _ever_  imagined.

She carries that thought around with her as minutes become days and days become weeks. Raven will not come to her and will not meet her eyes. Abby’s body craves Raven and Raven obviously craves Abby, but the difference is—here at the 32nd end of the world or whatever count they’re at this point—Abby’s stopped denying herself anything, after all that they’ve been through. So she goes to Raven. She suggests a walk.

Raven stands in the middle of her room stock still, startled and obviously pissed at seeing her. Raven manages to look frightened, ashamed and put out all at the same time. She begins to undress.

Abby’s too distraught to tell her to fuck off and just stop it because the _last thing_ they’re going to do right now is fuck. So Abby just stalks over and jerks Raven’s shirt back on, who then schools her features into a perfect combination of arrogance and smugness. Raven’s going for nonchalance and doesn’t quite make it to petulant and childish.

Abby finally says, holding her hand out. “We’re all free, Raven.”

Abby’s only ever been the one person who could mortify Raven like this in her entire life. It sucks for her but it’s true.

Yeah, well,” Raven says, closing her eyes and tipping her head back. “At least one of us is, right?”

There doesn’t seem like there’s an awful lot to say after that.

“We need to talk, Raven. And I’d like it if we could be—”

“We’re walking. So shut up and walk.”

* * *

They’re about a mile outside of the settlement when Jasper appears literally out of fucking nowhere and almost gives Raven a heart attack. Abby is suspiciously unalarmed. Raven might kill them both.

Jasper thankfully never looks at her in that horrendously side-eyed way that everyone else (besides Clarke, Octavia, Abby, Bellamy, Monty and Sinclair) sometimes do, because Jasper was there with Clarke, Bellamy, Octavia, Monty and Sinclair. Jasper took most of what Raven/ALIE threw at him and didn’t commit suicide because of it. They all had. And ALIE had ripped his, all of their, hearts out. Jasper’s especially.

_Let's protect Jasper. Jasper's so sensitive. Jasper's lost someone. Everyone cater to his feelings. We've all lost someone. You don't see us falling apart. You don't see us getting wasted, being useless... But then why should we expect anything more? You used to get high off people's medicine. Being a selfish loser was your only move. That's all we see when we look at you... a coward, a waste of breath. Why do you even bother living? You're weak, pathetic. You can't save me. You can't even save yourself. You couldn't save what's her name._

“Her name was Maya,” Jasper says to Raven. 

Raven’s fury dissipates immediately, “Oh Jasper. I know her name. I’m sorry.”

“You never have to say sorry again, Raven.” Jasper says looking down at his feet. “I mean, who knows if we’re all really here right now, you know? We could be stuck between worlds, still.” 

Only Raven really knows what he’s going on about and she nods for him to continue, he does, “You and Monty figured it out. We’re all really good at what we do. Team Science, you know? We stick together no matter what. The thing about this place, this new/old Earth, is that the Grounders mythos describes the world magically, and that perception shapes them, who they are and that’s what we do too. Different languages, same deal. Observer/Observed. They’re not separate areas, they’re not separate domains, and they’re a whole. I miss Maya, I’ll miss her forever. I’m dealing, okay?” 

Sinclair, Marcus, Bellamy, Octavia and Clarke come ambling down the path and Raven doesn’t even really give a shit anymore. This is so obviously an intervention it’s ridiculous.

Clarke comes straight over and Raven just kind of marvels at her. The change in her has been the most apparent, the most obvious. There’s a peace to her now, a fulfillment of love and destiny will do that to someone, she guesses. And, Raven supposes, if you follow your true love into death and beyond and you come back— you’re going to be changed in ways that have only been theorized about for millennia.

“Anything you want is true,” Clarke says to Raven, to all of them.

“Thank you, non-scientist,” Raven says.

Abby clears her throat and continues for her daughter, because lately Clarke sounds a little too much like she dropped a crapload of acid even for her own mother, “Jaha, out of all of us, did what he does best. He wanted the Godhead, he wanted absolution and none of that can be found anywhere but in us.”

Clarke nods and takes Abby’s hand.

“They used to call science magic,” Sinclair looks up through the canopy of trees, shades his eyes from the rays and motes of refracted light and sighs, “We’re a family, we can’t do anything without each other. The second code, the Flame, is an organic community, held together by our collective, our dna codes and whatever metaphorical symbols you want to give them, whatever you want to call it: intuitions, our hope. Lexa is a living symbol of what we are and aren’t.” He smiles at Raven and then Clarke, “Lexa and I have been talking about some things.”

Clarke smiles, her eyes alight with something Raven has never seen before. Happiness. “Like, a thinking layer of the Earth.”

“Are you self-medicating?” Jasper asks Clarke.

“No, asshole. I’m getting laid.”

Octavia claps her hands together and comes right up to Raven, all up in her face and into her personal space, “The self-pity shit is getting old,”

Bellamy pokes Raven. She slugs him in the arm.

“Okay. Okay.” Raven turns to leave but Bellamy grabs her around the waist and hauls her up in a fireman’s carry, because he’s a dick. “Hang on, we have something to show you.”

* * *

Raven, for a moment in time, abandoned herself. She became a code of digits, numbers running in loops and dataspheres, co-existed and subsumed in indecipherable, nonhuman planes of existence. She allows Bellamy to carry her like a little sack of potatoes because she’s tired and sad. She misses her friends.

Bellamy throws a blinding smile at Abby, and when Abby smiles back, he feels like it’s the first time he’s done something right in a long-ass time.

When they reach the little fleet of electrical jeeps that Raven and Sinclair built, Bellamy deposits her in the driver’s seat and heads over to the lead vehicle, “Just follow me, okay?”

Abby, Jasper and Monty pile in with her and she nods her head, turns the ignition and does as she’s told. They drive for a few hours along what looks like an old highway, asphalt still intact and grown over, but easily navigable.

Raven’s heart starts pounding when the landscape begins to change, and the air smells different. A breeze laden with the smell of salt and water almost blindsides her. She’s never experienced anything like it. Abby must notice because she comes out of her relaxed doze and reaches for Raven’s hand.

Another few minutes down a small path of sand and high grass, and Raven notices horse tracks before Bell pulls over and shuts down the rover. She follows and parks behind him. No one has any weapons on them and she begins to feel giddy, untethered. Clarke comes around the side of the car and grabs her hand and leads her over a dune. And what Raven sees almost has her falling to her knees.

She’s been in space, she knows the Great Silence and Void, she knows about being small, infinitesimal, and kept alive only by a thin line tethered precariously to the Ark, but nothing— _nothing_ —has prepared her for the living vastness and the welcome home she’s experiencing right now.

Ever since her disabilities became drastic, ever since she lost her identity in suffering and grief—the reasons she wanted to kill herself and die into utopia—she’s only wanted one impossible thing—a near-religious yearning for wholeness and pain’s end.

She does understand Jaha, perhaps better than any of them do. But there is nothing remotely like sadness or pain here on the beach as she looks at the ocean for the first time. What the wild, unfurling sea holds is the unthought-of, unlooked for promise of _all things fall apart, all things fade and all things renew. Alpha and Omega._ She’s looking at a landscape that’s all light, all temperature, all size, shape and time. 

A little farther down the coastline stand two figures and the horses whose trail Raven realizes she noticed in the sand coming in. Clarke holds her hand up in greeting and Octavia shoots down the dunes and runs towards them. Clarke follows at a slower pace while the rest of them meander all over the place, charmed as hell. Lexa and Indra turn towards Clarke and Octavia and urge them on. Raven doesn’t think she’s seen these two smile like this, ever.

And it hits her. Raven knows what Abby did for her, she’s always known (she was there, for god’s sake), but they all would have done the same thing for each other. All of them. Not one of them would have watched or allowed the other to die without sacrificing themselves first.

She wades into the water without thinking before she really does go down on her knees. Bellamy comes in right after her and so does Abby. The salt water is _freezing_ and whirls and eddies around her and her breath comes in sharp gasps.

She dips her face under a wave and whoops as she comes up for air. Scrambling up, she charges in and under an infinite horizon, the sun just dips below and touches the outermost eastern skyline. They swim and shout to each other enveloped in a moving, iridescent sheet of living water, the living surface of the ocean welcomes them and they swim and swim and swim, and everyone comes in all at once, even the horses.

Raven grabs one of the magnificent animal’s manes and hauls herself up on his broad, strong back and good natured, awesome animal that he is—he swims with her.

* * *

Later, after the sun sets, Raven and Bell build a fire. Raven has never been so bananas happy in her life. People are paired or tripled up under blankets and it’s kind of a pretty good bonfire. The spray of stars and the roar of the ocean keep conversation to a minimum. It’s nice to be quiet.

She’s standing a little away from the group watching the moonlight play against the waves. In all her life, she doesn’t think she’s seen a more beautiful sight in her life. And then Abby comes up behind her and drapes a blanket around her and she realizes she’s dead wrong. She has seen something as beautiful and then she wants to die because holy crap is she lame. Because, gross. Raven opens her arms and Abby comes into the blanket and that’s it. Raven is officially fucked. She’s a goner. She doesn’t even care.

“Thank you for the ocean,” she says, instead of anything remotely intelligent.

“Raven Reyes,” Abby sighs, “You are a gigantic pain in the ass.”

Raven decides not to say anything else, because she can’t even with herself right now. That was THE WORST and she’s never speaking again.

“Stop being weird and kiss me,” Abby says.

That she can do, and she does for a very long time.

“Marry me?” Raven gasps when they come up for air, dizzy.

Abby stays totally quiet. Raven panics, “I mean, it’s the End of the World, like for the 100th time, okay? And we survived and I almost lost you and we all became zombies and oh my god, the screaming and blood—“

“I think you have to tell me you love me first,” Abby just looks at her and tilts her head. Raven feels legitimately like a toddler. “That’s, I think, how it works.”

It takes a full five minutes for Raven to get a handle on herself, and then, “Abby Griffin, you saved my life. We all saved each other. Thank you. I love you. Marry me.”

“Yes.” And then Abby, just for her, leans into her and whispers into her ear her most favorite vow and prayer in the world besides the Traveler’s Blessing,

_“Over every living thing which is to spring up, to grow, to flower, to ripen during this day say again the words: ‘This is my Body’. And over every death-force which waits in readiness to corrode, to wither, to cut down, speak again your commanding words which express the supreme mystery of faith: ‘This is my Blood’.”_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abby's vow is by Pierre Teilhard de Chardin


	4. Call Her Daylight/Somebody Else

Hi guys! I've made some of the Doctor Mechanic Prompts into a new multi-chapter AU. Please enjoy and let me know what you think:

 

**[Call Her Daylight](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6851599/chapters/15639259) **

“It’s up to you. We could keep doing a number of things I’ve dreamed up for us, we could go all night. Or we could have a dozen consciousness-expanding and sensation-magnifying hallucinations, visions of God, instant psychoanalysis, telepathy, and various creepy and/or ecstatic sensations nobody has yet been able to verbalize. Sexual fulfillment beyond anything imaginable.”

What could possibly go wrong?

This is an expansion and continuation of a Doctor Mechanic prompt: Accidental Marriage

  


	5. No Carrots Were Harmed In The Making Of This Prompt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Clarke knows her friend Raven is hopelessly in love with her mum and gets Bellamy to keep coming onto Raven in front of Abby, so that Abby will admit she feels the same way.

“Oh my god, WHAT. Raven’s into your mom?” Bellamy squeals and Clarke wonders how she ended up with a big fucking NERD wrapped in the body of a greek god for a best friend. He’s kind of a big gay nerd too, for a straight guy. He has his moments of insanity about his hair and his gym regime.

“Okay?” Bellamy takes a moment to look at his drink after spraying the contents of his last sip and then he throws some mixed nuts into his mouth.

God, she loves him to death but what she's proposed is not that complicated. He’s the best person to be stuck in an airport with right before Christmas but she’s going to punch the fuck out of him, swear to god.

“What’s the issue?” It’s a tremendous plan; he has to know that.

“Uhm. So many things.” Bellamy looks at the ceiling, and actually laughs at her—he's a dick. “You’re pimping me out? Also, we’re not in high school. Raven can figure—”

“That’s the problem. Our little genius can’t figure anything out. Bell, mom’s lonely. It’s been five years since dad died. She works double shifts all the time and doesn’t eat and her best friends are other doctors, which wow, you know? It’s Grey’s Anatomy all up in there. And I’m sure she’s had sex only in the on-call rooms since—well, since.”

“Ew.”

“And Raven’s been crazy in love with her since they met and really, Mom’s being ridiculous. It’s gross. Both of them are being dense and gross and chivalrous.”

She’s spent the last year wondering if this was the right thing to do. Raven’s one of her best friends, and her mom is well, her mom. Both of them are pretty much idiots about this attraction between them. And oh good god, the angst, the fishing, the blushing, and the not at all chill questions about each other and, whatever. She’s sick of both of them. It would be kind of perfect. They can be stupid together.

“Did you not get the massive amounts of denial pouring off Mom during her last visit? Raven blinded her with her lack of game and Mom was—it was horrifying.”

“True.” Bellamy says, pushing his dork glasses up his nose, (it’s cute.) ”Oh, man tho—your _mom_ and _Raven_?”

All she can do is glare at him. “Raven stalks her on Facebook.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Fuck, that is ridiculous.” Bellamy throws his hands up in surrender. “That’s just all kinds of sad. Okay, I got you.” He holds up his fist. “Pound.”

They pound and murmur explosions and Raven strolls up with Octavia just then, because they definitely got the alert about the flight delays, and of course she and Bell didn’t. Bellamy smiles entirely too obviously at Raven and orders another round of drinks with a flourish. He even hands Raven a napkin. Clarke is going to kill him.

* * *

Lexa when she hears about “the plan” that night, after flying in even later than the four of them, is completely on board with this. “Oh _Thank Christ_. Raven’s been unbearable.”

“I know, right?”

“Shh, keep your voices down.” Octavia eyes her brother critically, fucks around with his hair a bit. “Keep the glasses. No product. Okay, yes. Presentable.”

“Thanks, O.”

“De nada.”

* * *

Abby doesn’t arrive at the cabin until 4 am, after a long, more berserk than usual pre-holiday shift. When she looks into see the five of them sound asleep in the living room in front of the last embers of a dying fire she makes the rounds and covers each of them with a blanket and takes a cup of spiked hot cocoa off of Bellamy’s chest so it doesn’t spill. She takes a sip and smiles at Clarke and Lexa, who look like kittens all crashed out.

She lingers over Raven, making sure her neck is at an angle that won’t fuck her up in the morning and is careful to elevate her leg without waking her. Raven mumbles something incoherent and promptly conks out again. Abby just watches her sleep before reaching out and softly brushing some hair behind her ear.

* * *

Abby’s still buzzed from her day and the drive so she puts away the food she’s brought for the long Christmas weekend, pushing aside the way too many Hot Pockets (Clarke) and Cocoa Puffs (Raven) and fat-free yogurt and smoothie powders (Octavia) while grabbing the Hershey kisses (Lexa) the group brought with them and then sits down at the kitchen table to go through the last of her files and notations. She’s engrossed in it before long until she senses someone in the room with her.

“What can I get you, sweetheart?” She says without looking up.

“Hey. You’re here.” Raven says quietly from where she stands in the doorway. And then wants to punch herself in the face, because of course Abby’s here.

Abby looks up and takes off her glasses. Raven’s heart pretty much stops.

“Raven, hi.” Abby says and then tilts her head, “Do you need something? What can I get you?”

Which—Raven gets a hilarious look before shaking her head and saying, “It’s good to see you, Abby.” And then Abby watches Raven’s features go through about 18 different expressions before ending up on the equivalent of _Sweet Jesus, someone help me_.

Raven gives up on conversation, crosses her arms over her chest and shuffles through the kitchen to rinse her glass out and refill it with water. She leans easily on the counter and drinks most of it. When she stretches her back out instinctively, her shirt rides up to expose her flat, toned stomach.

Abby puts her pen down and stares straight at her; it’s an unconscious reaction and she’s exhausted, but there it is. And then Raven just looks mortified. Sleepy as hell and very, _very_ attractive, but mortified.

She puts the glass down carefully in front of her and looks back up at Abby. There’s a short, interminable silence.

“Pancakes.”

Abby blinks, “Come again?”

“Can we make pancakes tomorrow?”

“Of course, honey.” Abby smiles.

“Okay. And bacon.”

“Yes.”

“Okay. That’s good. Thank you.”

“No problem. Go back to sleep.”

* * *

Pancakes didn’t influence her decision to come on this Christmas vacation—Abby did—that and being with these dysfunctional idiots she calls friends on what’s becoming a yearly and desperately needed holiday tradition for everyone after college. She also didn’t plan on _crushing_ on Abby nearly as hard as she is—that wasn’t in the life plan either. That just happened out of the fucking blue, like lightning.

She’s not a child—for god’s sake, she’s in her early twenties with more mature plans than an unrequited dumbass obsession with her friend’s mother—but _holy god_ is she lame. _Pancakes._

She didn’t dream about being this lame. It actually happened. 

Everyone else seems to be up so she kicks off her blanket, adjusts her brace, and follows the amazing smells coming from the kitchen.

Someone, Lexa, hands her a cup of coffee without looking at her and she takes it with a grunt and leans against the table near the window before taking her first sip of perfection.

“Give her 10 minutes. No one’s allowed to talk to her before that in the morning.”

“It’s an hour,” Raven squints over the rim of her cup.

“Me too,” Lexa growls, “Leave us alone.”

Abby comes down the stairs looking refreshed and gorgeous, feeling a million times better than she did last night and…

Bellamy is shirtless, making pancakes, making bacon and staring at Raven with his adorable glasses on and his unreal body and his—what the fuck even. It’s too early for this.

Abby makes a strangled little noise that has Clarke looking at her, concerned. Someone hands her a cup of coffee. Bellamy keeps on grinning at Raven. Did he just flex? He just flexed.

“Raven, you want your bacon first or with pancakes?” Bellamy coos at Raven. Who perks up visibly and smiles at him like a dope.

“Bacon now, please.”

“It speaks.”

“Shut up, Octavia.” Bell doesn’t even look at his sister when he pushes a plate of bacon over to Raven with another subtle flex.

He even smells good—Abby’s standing pretty close to him—clean with a little bit of a very male, very pleasant musk all his own. He’s a glorious specimen and he’s watching Raven with the softest, most attentive—okay, fuck this.

* * *

“Is Bellamy on medication?”

“Whatever do you mean?” 

“He’s being weird.”

Octavia laughs and shifts on her cross-country skies. “You mean he’s being extra nice to you, Raven?”

“Yeah, that.”

Octavia smiles, “You’re the rocket scientist, dude.” She actually is, “What do you think?”

Raven swats at her with one of her gloves and almost faceplants. She barely rights herself, cursing, and looks around to make sure everyone’s a little farther back on the trail. “What the hell, O.” She hisses under her breath. “That was years ago. _Once_.”

“And he hasn’t forgotten it.” Octavia says sagely. “You are just that memorable.”

Raven does lose her balance then. The rest of the group rounds the corner and finds her flailing around trying to haul herself back out of the snow bank she’s in. Octavia’s already tried to and ended up on her ass, as well.

Abby rushes to take off her equipment. “Hold on a minute, Raven. Take the pack off first and—“

Bellamy’s already over to help both of them up. First, Octavia and then Raven, who he _literally_ cradles in his arms for at least five minutes asking if she’s alright, asking how her leg is, is her pack too heavy, is she cold; until even Clarke is glaring at Bellamy thunderously. Lexa wants to kill someone and Abby looks stoic. Octavia seems highly amused. Raven just looks stricken.

Bellamy’s still bent over Raven, his face really too close to hers, when he says, “You okay, babe?" 

Raven rolls her eyes and says, “I’m fine, _babe_. But, you know, thank you.”

“It’s getting late, and we still don’t have a tree,” Abby says quietly, leaning on her poles.

“Right.” Bellamy gets off his knees, hooks his hands underneath Raven’s arms and hauls her up to her feet. He then wraps himself around her and gives her a very intimate, caring hug. “Can I help you put your skies back on?”

That sounds impossibly lewd to Abby and she looks around to see if anyone else caught that inflection. All of them are studiously avoiding her eyes. She _can’t_ have heard that incorrectly. Is that code?

“Bellamy, lets get going, Raven, you’re fine yes?” she barks, irritated beyond belief, and then almost actually hits something, because what kind of nonsense is that reaction.

* * *

“Bellamy, you’re laying it on _real_ thick. You’re going to fuck it up.” Lexa corners him later while Raven and Abby are in the kitchen and the rest of them are trying to get the tree up.

No one’s helping Clarke with the lights because she’s a fucking aggressive bitch when she has to deal with the lights and no one wants to deal with any of that.

“Oh, wait. You know about Plan Obvious? Cool. Shut up, it’s totally working.” He says, “Just trust me. I won’t even have to kiss her. Popcorn?”

Lexa lifts her head out of the blanket burrito she’s in and cranes her neck to see into the kitchen, “Shh, bring that bowl over here and sit down.”

* * *

Abby is furious and cutting the hell out of some poor vegetables.

“So you and Bellamy,” Abby says, before finishing drink number 5. “Really? Since when.”

“Yeah… I don’t… that’s…” Raven says, watching Abby cautiously.

“Wow.  What? Full sentences, honey.” Abby pours both of them another glass of wine, before focusing on Raven again. Raven’s probably on drink number 4 but who knows.

Abby’s holding a knife. Carrots are dying.

“Do I need to say sorry for something?” Raven tries again.

“You’ve liked me for  _years_ ,” Abby says out of _nowhere_ , it’s a statement and not a question and she still sounds really fucking angry and is still beating the crap out of their food.

“Yes? I’m sorry?” Raven says, a little too softly. Abby has to cock her head and lean in to hear anything.  

“You like  _me_ ,” Abby says, suddenly very close to Raven and _how did that happen_ just as Bellamy sails in _shirtless again_ and Raven immediately braces herself for whatever insanity is going to happen now.

Abby deflates and feels dizzy and awful. “—hey? What do you need Bellamy? You guys all set in there?”

Bellamy assesses the situation in an instant and runs a hand over his face with a sigh and says, “Clarke needs a refill. She’s going batshit with the lights. I need a refill. Brought you guys some candy. Everything alright in here, babe?” He says that to Raven and she just stares at him.

Then, out of nowhere he leans into Raven and gives her the softest, deepest most ridiculously intimate kiss ever _while simultaneously flexing again_ and she can see Clarke rounding the corner and stopping abruptly, eyes super wide.

Raven sort of wants to die. She’s not running and screaming yet but she’s _real close_.

“Mom,” Clarke asks softly, “You okay? You’ve gone really white. You want to sit down?”

“I’m fine, Clarke. I just need some air. We need firewood. Can you finish the carrots?” Abby flinches and drops what she’s doing, grabs her coat, throws on her boots and heads out into the dark and snowy night.

Raven turns on Bellamy, “Bell, I’m really sorry but Abby just said that I like her. That I’ve liked her for years. So you can’t do that anymore. _What the fuck are you doing_.”

He pats her on the ass, “What do you think, genius?”

Raven just looks at him for a long moment and then pulls her own boots on as fast as she can and grabs her puffy jacket and barrels out the door. Leaving Clarke and a very smug Bellamy standing alone in the kitchen. Clarke snaps out of it first.

“Ugh, please put a shirt on.”

* * *

They clearly can’t do this like normal people so Raven just stands stupidly behind Abby as Abby gazes at the stars. 

Abby, being miles ahead in the _holy shit I don’t give a fuck anymore_ department at least had the foresight to grab her glass of wine before she fled the kitchen and she hands it back to Raven without looking at her.

And then she can’t even drink it because Abby _does_ turn and Abby _is_ kissing her deep and hard and with a lot of feelings flying around. It’s nice. It’s really actually unreal it’s so good. It’s filled with meaning and promise and Raven has to grab on to Abby’s shoulders for dear life in order to not just fall to her knees dizzy with desire, relief, and gratitude.

“How long?” Abby murmurs, “How long, Raven?”

Raven shakes her head and kisses her again; their lips slide together effortlessly. She’s going to be permanently turned on forever with this woman. Abby tastes like snow and starlight and heat. So much heat. Raven moans and moves to grip Abby’s jacket to bring her in closer. Her lips ghost over Abby’s until she feels Abby shudder against her.

“Doesn’t matter. I do.” Raven holds her to her for a moment and then when Abby is about to say something else she places her fingers on Abby’s mouth. “Shhh. Look.”

Abby follows Raven’s discreetly pointed finger up towards the cabin. There are four meerkats peering at them through the window.

Abby laughs softly, “Those little bastards.” 


	6. Doctor Mechanic Week: Assassin AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of 2
> 
> Set during S3- Ye Who Enter Here.
> 
> An Assassin descends on Mount Weather with the intent of setting off Mount Weather’s coded destruct sequence. 
> 
> Raven, Sinclair and Gina confront a Ice Nation Killer that might not be what she seems and a situation that spirals into the impossible and sends Raven on a desperate mission she knows fuck all about.
> 
> A mysterious spatial anomaly appears, and Raven and several other unsuspecting friends are thrown through time and caught up in something that wreaks havoc with everything they thought they knew about themselves and their world.
> 
> Raven begins to exhibit various special abilities—new allies emerge—and each time Raven is capable of different supernatural feats.

**[A/N You can also find it here as a planned two-part stand-alone](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7767505/chapters/17715112) **

* * *

_“Don't make this about the missiles. This is about survival."_

_“We don't have the numbers, but the missiles in this mountain even the playing field. You know I'm right.”_

_“Even if I did agree with you, we still don't have the launch codes.”_

_“No, but we have me.” Raven said._

* * *

In the darkness under the Mountain, in the cold earth and wet chill of a monk’s cell her kind had built for contemplation and initiation since the first Expanses had formed. She ran the white paint over her brows and tightly closed eyes, and she whispered her prayers, and her trance went on and on.

She brought her face closer to the small circle of candlelight and began to chant. Her ordeal wouldn’t end until the Universe spun out towards the Far Reaches and a new age was born, and then her kind would again be sent through the vast cycles of Time. Mysteries like her don't have answers. They were endless possibilities and permutations. So Ordinary.

Once through the God’s Gate—never to return as she’d been—she and her brethren were a vast shadow across Time, and she was alone here, now. She served where she was sent.

Assassin of the Ice Nation this go-round, or whatever they decided to name her in whatever language suited. Queen Nia had known which Lord of Chaos to call on; but the Queen would never understand what she had unwittingly unleashed.

The old worlds called her by thousands of names, but it wasn’t language that made her, and she was only partway into her trance, and that was when she felt she might double over and throw up. There was something askew about this ritual already; her senses clamored in anguished counterpoint to the training, but she was past the threshold, well into thrall. 

She was in a situation of extreme mortal threat, her—an immortal. No one had pulled her out, and it wasn’t anything she could question. This was different. Something pricked at her skin. 

The girl, whom she could hear and feel and smell and whom she could see without her eyes being open gathered like vapor around her, and she began to paint the markings that were used before the Beginning and since the End.

ॐ भू: भुवः स्वः ।तत्स॑वि॒तुर्वरेण्यं॒ भर्गो॑ दे॒वस्य॑ धीमहि । धियो॒ यो नः॑ प्रचो॒दया॑त् ॥

Her short ion-staff glowing cool blue signaled and she breathed deeply, hallowing herself with powerful hallucinations. She blew down and could breathe again.

The trance returned her to total consciousness, and she remembered Love. The waves passed over her face, and she saw her. Raven was coming.

* * *

 _“Holy shit, Sinclair. Fuck this.” Raven threw her calculations across the room._

_“What happened to that Raven Reyes confidence?” he asked._

_“It's a_ **12-digit** _code. There are a trillion combinations. Give me a—Gina, what do you got?”_

_Gina looked up at her, her flash of amusement barely hiding uneasiness. “Don't look at me. I'm just a grunt.”_

_Sinclair sighed and chewed unconsciously on a cuticle and immediately stopped when he realized what he was doing. “Oh, come on, guys. It's going to be dark soon.”_

_“We're working analog,” Raven snapped, “We're working digital. What are we missing?”_

_“Want to bet he wrote it down somewhere?” Sinclair raised his head and cracked his neck._

_He was uncomfortable, completely furious Pike had moved Farm Station people in here, furious at Abby for approving the whole tone-deaf and stupid plan. He agreed with Bellamy—it wasn’t right. Yes, the supplies, medical and otherwise, were unprecedented but Maun-de was haunted. He’d seen Lincoln’s and Nyko’s eyes. And he was pretty sure they were the most rational and low-key dudes he’d ever met. He was fucking spooked, and so was everyone else._

_“Oh, come on. That's like setting the launch codes all zeros,” Raven muttered._

_“I'll check the president's office.” Gina got up from where she was kneeling and brushed off her pants. Raven looked at her, hesitated and nodded._

* * *

_The President’s abandoned office was freaky as hell, everything still in its place. Gina closed her eyes and breathed in as deeply as she could, steadying herself against the slow, creeping terror and frustration. It was not fun being alone here._

_“Raven, babe. I tried everything, still completely locked out of the missile system.” She said over the radio._

_Raven threw her calculations across the room, again. Sinclair looked up at her and raised his brows. “Really, Raven?”_

_“Come on, let’s walk. I hate it here, and I hate being separated from Gina. It has to be somewhere in that office. Dante and Cain, all of them, someone must have become careless after a century. We all need to be together.” Raven was talking way too fast and Sinclair moved to take her hand. She slumped slightly and knocked her brace._

_He didn’t answer, but she knew he understood._

_“I give up. We're too late, anyway. It's already dark,” she practically snarled, “This is useless. I'm better with hydrazine and gun powder.”_

_Sinclair gathered their things and handed Raven her pack. She looked at him, surprised he was listening to her at all. “Raven... The Raven Reyes I know doesn't give up.”_

_He strode out of the room, leaving Raven to scramble after him. Her injury was becoming worse, especially when she was wound up like this. Pain shot through her nerves, and she groaned quietly._

_“Who the fuck cares if I give up? All I do now is sit at a bench and fix—“_

_“Have you talked to Abby?” Sinclair ignored her._

_“About what? She put me there. Sidelined me.”_

_Sinclair turned on her, and held up the Comm-Link. “If this machine was broken and you knew there was a way to fix it, would you not do it because it might be hard? Why the resistance?”_

_He’s not raising his voice in the slightest; it’s his most soothing, brilliant quality. He never gets thrown off, and he talks to her as if they’re back on the Ark, or at camp, laughing about something obnoxious one of the engineers had done._

_“You think you deserve this pain, that this is your cross to bear for your mom or Finn, for all you've been through. It's not. You deserve more, and with the medical equipment in this building, Abby can help you. Let her.”_

_“What if she can't?” she says so quietly he has to lean forward, “What if I'm just broken?”_

_“I took a chance on a zero-g mechanic with a heart defect. Why don't you take a chance on her, too?”_

* * *

She rose and left the cell, holding the staff glowing cool and a brilliant blue. This was this world, and no other color would suffice. She came from an ancient and proud line, and she was close. She could taste her. Raven was so strong. Raven was of a different Order altogether. She was in trance. 

Her mouth quivered, and she could hear a great roaring, the three of them were there, together. Only Raven was visible to her, like a beacon.

* * *

_Raven paused over the President’s desk, her stomach muscles started to go in and out, and she gasped for air that wasn't there. There was an awful, bright vacuum, an anomaly in the Real, bearing down on them. She ached and cowered and reached for Gina’s shoulder. Sinclair rifled through everything he could find, oblivious to Raven’s panic._

_She was smashed against the wall, punched against the concrete, some immense elemental force slammed into her. She convulsed once and her body went limp, the hand that had her around the neck was unbearably cold and promised death and pain, and too much light._

_Too much light, she thought abstractly, how could death be too much light?_

_The Assassin brought her head up, and moaned at the touch. Smiled at Raven. So beautiful, in such unnecessary pain, she had no idea how important she was._

_Raven’s vision blurred, her ears rang. What was happening? Why was she breathing? The wraith, a white shadow out of a nightmare, painted with runes and ciphers and numbers, she had no idea what they were, was tearing her apart; her hands were cut almost to the bone where they came into contact with his skin._

_Gina shrieked and threw a large chair at the thing, a woman, surely? The heavy, wooden chair bounced off his back. She screamed again, this time in frustration._

_“She set off a self-destruct sequence. She has the codes on her arm. **They’re on her arm**. We have 45 seconds.” Gina trailed off and launched herself at her, the Assassin growled at her and smashed her across the face. Sinclair scrambled for his gun and fired off a shot—it barely registered._

_She raised the ion-staff and it pulsed with a hypnotic thirst. She raised it to Raven’s face, placed it between her eyes, and waited. Raven closed her hands around her wrist and waited with her, helpless. Assassin turned to her, flickering in and out of a dreamtime, and Raven’s heart almost stopped. She was looking at her own face. Raven was staring into her own eyes. And they were soft with understanding and triumph._

_“45 seconds, Raven.”_

_The explosion hit, and everything was a primeval storm, obliterating all._

* * *

She, this time her corporeal form was different, came through the God’s Gate a few minutes after midnight, her ears still ringing. She had been conscious all the way through, just enough to send back subvocalized data-logs of the blinding pain during and after the transubstantiation. 

Any information, any cataloguing for the Akashic libraries, the Hall of Memories, the Memory of Nature that was read in three different inner worlds, was welcomed and recorded. _“The houses are all gone under the sea._ _The dancers are all gone under the hill_ _."_

Her lowered voice finished on an unintentional, high pitch of anger and she switched her transceiver off, annoyed at herself. Her slowing breath spluttered through a mask of blood and flesh. There was no more time for this body. 

These phases were never easy. Her hands shook too much afterwards, and her unpreventable wreckage of human carbon-based fibers and silicon had become one fragile ethereal organism—and she didn’t know right away how far they’d sent her this time.

She got up and walked unsteadily into the blizzard, and atomized tears appeared in the fabric of the sky and chem-trails rose from the spatial anomaly behind her—a vast, fading monolithic gate that spanned the eastern hemisphere. 

She made the Circle of Ice sign over the blue-white haze masking her face, and jogged further into the swirling wind and snow. The girl, Raven, was here; she was here with her. She was close by and her ears stopped ringing, the grogginess cleared.

* * *

Raven, in shock, should be dead after that explosion.

Abby and the others couldn't even get near her—too much blood had clotted between her body and the materials of the BiOM brace she wore—the fucking thing had exploded not even ten minutes after they strapped it on her and injected her with the biocircuitry serum, a nano-tech capable of self-organization and self-repair under the direction of the nascent artificial intelligence at the heart of their project. The brace was as alive as she was, but her body was rejecting the symbiosis during every test run. 

No one had named it yet. Raven had wanted to name it after her childhood imaginary friend, the little stuffed animal Finn found for her, her dog-slash-bff, but no one thought that “Larry” had enough gravitas so they named it POLIS, and then by unspoken agreement never called it that again. Larry it was.

“Larry” plugged up and staunched the blood flow from the many small punctures effectively enough until the brace could be removed, before Raven bled in too many places for them to cope with. While this was done, they had to leave her leg as it was for more time than she was comfortable with, and she started swearing immediately.

“Easy, honey.” Abby said into her ear, wincing with vicarious pain as she drew a long sliver of formally sentient fiber-optic nerves from Raven’s upper thigh. “Jesus, I’m sorry. This isn’t working.”

Raven glared at her for a second, hauling herself up and hopping away from Abby and Lexa. Clarke flinched, thinking better of trying to handle her at all, and Raven dragged herself across the large space and limped out the barn door.

“This is hard on her, Mom. She’s pushing herself too much,” Clarke said.

Abby winced again and nodded. “Why don’t you go back to the house? See if Bellamy’s finished talking to Sinclair on the Ancible … “

“We can go after her.” 

“I will. You go on back to the house,” Abby said. 

“She’s scary as shit right now. She’s stubborn and hurt and frustrated. And she can’t get far in the snow. Let’s just let her relax a little, okay?” Clarke said, “We’re all upset.”

Abby sighed. “Get the good stuff out tonight. It’s in—you know where it is.” Clarke blinked at her, all innocence. “I’ll make some cocoa when I come back in and we’ll—“

Clarke’s smile is like the sun. “You remembered.” It was something she and Jake loved to do. Hot chocolate with a generous nip of strong whiskey and watching a game together. “I’ll see if there’s enough leftovers for sandwiches.”

* * *

Bareheaded, Raven felt the storm immediately. She cursed mildly at Bellamy, back in the warmth of the main house, who had stolen her favorite watch cap right after they’d arrived.

The new prototype, a bio-organism, was running on a low-band, back-up energy, heat coursing through the sentient plastic supports. The blazing overload of the nano-tech still streaming in her blood made her dizzy, much too powerful for her body to handle. The brace was ruined but still worked—like an ordinary, older analog model Wick had made—her wounds were shallow, and her leg hadn’t lost its motor power.

 _She_ was still working, for whatever that was worth now.

She stumbled through the wind and swirling snow towards the backfields. She took a deep breath. One arm tensed against the wreckage of her leg, which seemed to want to move counter to her awkward forward movement. She sat down abruptly, unmindful of the cold and wet, and unfastened the scarred thing. She blew out another utterly frustrated sigh when it wouldn’t just cooperate and fall off to the ground.

“Raven,” Abby said from behind her, “put this on.”

Raven took the offered jacket without looking around and let out an ungraceful noise when Abby placed a hat over her head but other than that didn’t try to touch her.

“I'm right here with you, every step of the way, though I don't expect you to believe it,” Abby said above the wind. 

Abby knelt by Raven’s side, trying with one hand to button her coat. Raven swatted her hand away.

“Go inside, Abby,” Raven said, “I’m not going anywhere. Obviously.”

Abby placed her hand on Raven’s shoulder, and it took almost all of Raven’s energy not to lean into her heat. She looked down at the ruin of her leg.

“I need the cold right now, my skin is burning up, my whole body…”

Abby remained where she was, oblivious to the weather. “You know why we’re here. We have time.” She snorts lightly at the turn of phrase. The last thing any of them understood was _Time_. “Becca was born in 2025, 19 years from now. She won’t start working on—“

Raven nodded after a minute. “Yes, of course.”

“We need to do this together. We don’t even know—“

“If this is allowed. I’m aware. We’ve been all over this. We’re all here for a reason.”

“I don’t know what’s allowed anymore, or what those _reasons_ are, at all. Do you?” Abby ran her hand down Raven’s back, soothing her.

“Give me a minute, okay? I’ll be right in. We can talk about this when I come back in. Promise.” 

That’s all Abby could hope for. She leaned over and brushed her lips against Raven’s cheek. If Raven had been in any other kind of mood, it would have mattered more than she was willing to admit, and as it was she shivered unconsciously with pleasure. 

It took a full ten minutes to realize Abby had left her alone, and another few moments to accept that it was something she had asked for.

* * *

She let the snow accumulate, and breathed in deeply. She smelled wood smoke and the clean, bracing wind. The far off scent of the ocean, brine mixed with starlight and ice. She could hear the surf just above the howl of the wind. The lights of the house flickered in and out of the growing maelstrom. This was a bad one, and weather reports had predicted at least 24 hours of it. 

She raised herself slowly and tested her leg, tested her balance, and tossed up a silent thank you that the adrenaline and nausea had abated, finally. She would limp back to the house, accept whatever hot drink someone handed her, and they would debrief.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She was being watched. She blinked back her terror, this felt too familiar.

“Hello, Raven.” The voice came from just in front of her. The tenor of it was different, the cadence melodic and calming. It was different this second time, still a woman’s voice, and it was the same. It was an extreme cognitive dissonance to hear her talking to herself. She’d never forget it. 

It had nothing to do with souls or physical or spiritual possession, it was the absorption of the One, the Universe turning in on itself and breathing out possibilities. 

“Again?” she whispered.

The woman who looked like her laughed. Raven knew she was breathing hard. She was using up too much energy just trying to stand upright and face the thing, ready for the next attack.

Raven spread her arms as the figure approached her out of the darkness, pivoting on one foot defensively to counteract the embrace that came. Normally the blow to Raven’s neck would have killed. Instead, the casual, brutal touch drained her of any thought or agency and rendered her helpless.

Blue-white explosive flashed against the low running clouds, the weather stopped in an impossible moment, webs of lightning refracted through the flakes of snow as thunder rumbled around them and came closer—sound shouldn’t have been able to be heard within Planck units, but Raven heard it, the sound of ultimate reality, the entirety of the spheres, truth, divine, supreme spirit, cosmic principles, knowledge.

Raven had the wish to put an end to Time, to close it off, to protect all of them in this peculiar cycle of becoming and answer to no one ever again.

“So easy, love. Who says it can’t be done? You just have one thing to do until you’re free.” It was the last thing Raven heard before she pitched forward in an unconscious heap.

And then, the storm resumed.

* * *

“It’s been an hour,” Clarke announced.

“She’ll come back,” Lexa said, “She always does. It can’t be easy.”

“It gets harder every time,” Abby agreed. “She has a good jacket and her hat.” She sent a half-hearted glare towards Bellamy where he sat playing cards with Octavia.

“That’s because we’ve pushed the timeline too hard.” Raven came in stomping snow off her boots and shaking out her hair. “I’m _fine_. And right here. So please stop talking about me like I’m a fucking lab rat.”

“Raven—“ Lexa started up from the couch.

“I need a drink.”

Both Lexa and Clarke began to peel the wet layers of her outerwear off and Raven stood uncharacteristically still and let them. Lexa bent to handle the brace. She did so quickly and efficiently, as Raven steadied herself on her shoulder, muttering a _thank you_.

Raven, down to her henley and thermals, irritated by everyone maneuvering around her ready to help, shook off the excess snow in her socks, and ran a towel through her hair. Clarke handed her a thick blanket, and she shuffled herself over to the fireplace and stood there with her back to the room. 

Abby watched all of them, leaning easily against the large wooden kitchen island and shared another long look with Bellamy before turning back to the stove. She poured a good amount of bourbon into the cocoa.

Bellamy wandered over to bring the drink to Raven. He took a sip, hummed and handed it to her. She sighed against the rim of the mug, closing her eyes briefly against the dulled pain in her leg, against the prickling of everyone’s attention on her skin, against the measureless cold in her body.

Abby turned off the stove and crossed the open living room to embrace her from behind, the warmth and comfort of her hands resting across Raven’s shoulders and collarbone and Raven leaned into it, into Abby. 

They stood like that. Raven wrapped in the old patchwork blanket, Abby holding her, just watching the fire. Abby hummed low and tunelessly in her ear, and she calmed considerably. 

Lexa looked out the windows and motioned Clarke over to see the frenzied lashing of the wind. Every few moments the moon ripped through the clouds, creating spectre-like shadows that raced along the ground. The house shook. 

“It’s going to be a bad one,” someone said for the umpteenth time.

“Can we please— _shof op_ about the weather. We need to talk about what’s going on,” Lexa spoke sharply and turned from the window.

“Sure, Commander. What would you like to talk about?” Raven asked. 

“We’ve had two years in this timeline to acclimate. What we’re working towards—“

“And we haven’t aged.” Bellamy added. “Abby’s been monitoring us since we all came through. Jackson corroborates everything.”

“We’re experiencing nothing but a present moment, as we were when we came through. All of us are living like—we’re between seconds, and we’re as close to immortal as we can get—which is as impossible as traveling through time should be.” Clarke repeated everything they discussed endlessly. 

“We know, we’re hoping to God we know, what timeline we’re working with.” Abby squeezed Raven’s shoulders gently and stepped back. Raven shuffled over and collapsed, sprawling out on the couch.

“The future is still there, or else we wouldn’t be able to talk to Sinclair and Jackson—or at least that’s the working theory. If we’re not dead here, we’re not dead there.”

“Something like that. Because we have to offer up another alternative to ALIE. If we can do that, Becca will have a foundation, a canon of empathy to work from that she didn’t have previously. She can code ALIE correctly this time. I wouldn’t mind not existing if the alternative is stopping the Endtimes.” Octavia put down her cards and turned around in her chair. 

“Obviously,” Raven said, “and we have the _Natblida_. And we have the Flame. So this should all be working. But it’s not.”

When Lexa had finally come clean about what she was, what the Flame _possibly_ was (because god knows what the hell the Grounders thought it was and the Sky People hadn’t even known _Becca Pramheda_ had worked tirelessly to create a second generation of her AI), Clarke hadn’t talked to her for a full month.

Raven would have _killed_ to be privy to that blow-out. Bellamy, Abby, Octavia, and Raven had given Clarke and Lexa a very wide berth for a few weeks and taught themselves how to cook and knit and take a solid inventory of their new surroundings.

“I’m the technology we’re trying to duplicate. I’m a living example of an alternative to ALIE.” Lexa said.

“But you’re singular, and we haven’t been able to duplicate its properties in Raven, or Raven’s brace, or any of us. It all just keeps blowing up in our faces. The _Natblida_ is regenerative, but it’s not taking.”

They had gathered haphazardly within weeks of coming through, either together or separately, mostly because all of them had the same idea that the familiar places from the future _Where_ would be the same, one way or another, in this past _Where_. Allegedly.

So they gravitated—alone or together in twos— towards familiar landmarks and sat tight, barely hoping.

That’s how Abby found Raven in the middle of a strip mall miles from Mount Weather at the old (new?) Dropship site. The bleak little place had a dinky 7-11 and a whole lot of fast food chains.

Abby found Raven living haphazardly on Hostess HoHos and Slushies. Raven had also discovered Big Macs, and the power of befriending one of the night managers—a small town girl who loved manga and listened wide-eyed to Raven’s story in exchange for McFlurries.

“Holy shit,” the girl said as she handed Raven some extra fries. “This is like, I don’t even know man, Golgo 13 and Elric and Ronin.”

“Yes, girl.” Raven nodded sagely.

When Bellamy and Raven reunited, they’d bear-hugged for approximately two seconds and then actually started bitching at each other about what was better, Wendy’s or McDonald’s. It was _so nice_ that the one constant in any timeline in all the countless universes was Raven and Bellamy’s really stupid and awkward _we fucked once_ dynamic.

They won’t ever kill each other, but it’s always been fun for everyone when they start yelling. Lexa, after watching them for a good hour—the look on her face indescribable, her eyebrow steadily rising—was all like, the grounder equivalent of what the fuck, she was lost in time with these— _holy shit._ Octavia had gleefully translated Lexa’s string of curses from the _Trigedasleng_.

It was basically the best feeling in the world, because against all logic they were together.

Raven started laughing, spontaneous and unrestrained. And everyone did. This was just too absurd. The constant _why is nothing working?_ Isn’t so much defeat and exhaustion as why would _anything_ work? It was everything, all of it put together in one giant mental whiplash that elevated their situation into a shit-show of amazing proportions.

The only reason they had even found this property, stocked for at least ten years with dry goods and with a _working lab_ in the back forty, was when Abby produced Jake’s journal and the maps and instructions he’d drawn in them. None of it was coded. It was all laid out. And the identification papers, driver’s licenses and passports, the bank accounts and trusts he’d left for them were right where he told them they would be.

They had found the Ancible, a radio that made use of causal channels and entangled particles for instantaneous two-way communication.

Raven took one look at it and reverse engineered it in a few feverish, gleeful days. A signal sent through a wormhole would take a shortcut through space/time, allowing instantaneous communication from where they were now in time/space and where they’d come from.

Trying to learn how the coffee maker worked was harder for everyone. The thing was ancient and stupid. And forget the rest of the appliances.

“Ohhhhh,” Raven had sort of drawled at them over dinner one night, delighted, “You… broadcast a distinct energy pattern or signature. In fact, everything material is always emitting specific patterns of energy. And this energy carries information. This thing just broadcasts it in the strangest fucking way imaginable.”

“You mean the toaster?”

“No, babe. The contraption in the attic.”

Like that explained everything.

Sinclair had answered right away; the short wave radios Raven rebuilt seemed to receive their communications. He’d survived the Mountain. Gina had made it out. Sinclair almost didn’t survive the shock of talking to Raven casually from across a century of time.

They dug the deed to the land out of the attic one day while trying to fix a leak in the roof. It had been signed very clearly in Jake’s precise engineer’s script.

“I thought he was writing a story,” Abby had whispered as they sat around the fire, her eyes shining. It was unbelievable when she said it; it was unthinkable.

She traced over one particular passage again and again, “… can penetrate to the eternal origins of the things which might seem vanished or erased with time… ( _This part was unintelligible due to a coffee stain)_ …—transitory to non-transitory history. Time is invention and nothing else. _All of us can experience this."_  

Jake was somewhere lost in the dimensional fabric, too. Or maybe he knew exactly what he was doing. He was alive, and he’d traveled here before them. Clarke and Abby had talked about it exactly once, both of them rigid with emotions they couldn’t handle.

This was either rough magic or a technology they had no experience with. But Jake was alive in this time stream, knew they would follow him, and had laid out his plans for them in plain English.

“Did they know this?” Abby had shouted, “Is this why Marcus wasn’t at his execution?”

They were forced to give her a sedative (also in the stock rooms). Her head felt like it had cracked open with overflowing pain, her heart couldn’t take anymore, and she sincerely didn’t care if it stopped beating and she died from grief. Clarke wasn’t much better.

This was the same world they all knew, just a little bit younger and with much more hope and a lot more arrogance and obliviousness to the Fall that was coming. So they followed Jake’s instructions and began to work.

Raven closed her eyes for a long moment, and then opened them again. “You all need to see this,” she said quietly.

She tossed the blanket off and began to unbutton her shirt, pulling it just off her shoulders and turning so they could see her left side, just along her spine and above the old bullet wound. The light in the room was low, and the firelight danced in her eyes. 

“Someone explain this.”

Happiness was a feeling Raven was born with; it carried her through her childhood and through her training and through her excelling at everything. It was what let her forgive Finn and Clarke almost immediately; it was what shone through when she met Abby; her kindness and arrogance. But she was trembling now, scared, on the edge of terror and heartache. She shook it off bitterly and let Abby lift the shirt higher.

“Abby, what is this? Is this in Jake’s papers?”

Abby looked and her expression turned bleak, wary. Raven saw it in the others, too. The skin was tender and still bleeding. It looked like it had been branded into her flesh, the edges of it raw and blue, phosphorescent mercury.

ॐ भू: भुवः स्वः

“Raven? When did this happen?” Octavia whistled low.

“When I was outside. I don’t remember anything after I asked Abby to go back to the house.”

* * *

Raven rubbed her eyes in the inadequate light of the attic. Abby, Octavia, Lexa, and Clarke sat in a tight circle around her, more for comfort than warmth, as they called up Sinclair and Jackson. Bellamy poked his head up briefly and announced he would stay downstairs with a gun. He was uneasy, too.

The thing crackled to life with a low hum. Abby tilted her head at the device and nodded at Raven to begin.

She gave a brief, barely audible description of walking out into the snow and then stopped; she really had no idea what happened. Her head hurt. She hardly noticed when Abby took the transceiver from her and began to explain in an oddly uninflected voice what the symbols looked like, how they appeared, how old they were from the look of the scarring—

“That’s what was on the Ice Nation Assassin’s body.” Sinclair interrupted. 

“I know the symbols,” Lexa offered, “We don’t know why they’ve been carved into Raven’s skin. She looked over and amended, “Not carved. Risen. Called forth. Like they were already there.”

Raven looks hilariously taken aback, and Lexa stops talking.

“You know what it says?” Clarke asked.

“It’s the beginning of the Gayatri Mantra.” Lexa said and recites, “ _We meditate on the glory of that Being who has produced this universe; may He enlighten our minds.”_

“What’s the Gayatri Mantra?” Octavia asked.

“That’s from that old show we used to watch—” Bellamy calls up from below, “Remember, O? When we were kids, _Battlestar Galac_ —“

“Why is it on me?”

“That depends on what you remember between the time Abby left your side and the time you came back in.” Sinclair said.

“Then we’re shit out of luck.” Raven, grumpy again, looked up at Abby. She didn’t remember anything.

She could almost feel Sinclair roll his eyes at her from the future. “You’ve been there for two years in the past, Raven. Talking to me _in the Future_. And I still don’t think any of us mentally ill. Yet. So why should we start thinking that now? Something happened, probably very similar to what happened at Mount Weather. The same something that triggered the time jump for you.”

“It was nothing like that. There’s no one here trying to kill us that I know of. I went outside because my leg almost blew off. Again.” she said. “It was a routine freak out.”

“Well, none of us has disappeared suddenly or ceased to exist here, so far. You’re doing something right. The time line still holds. The world will still end. So…” Sinclair trailed off.

“Whatever happened outside just now, happened to me at Mount Weather. That makes perfect sense. And now I’m marked up like the Ice Nation Assassin. This is totally fun.” Raven continued eating one of the cookies she’d stolen from Bellamy’s stash. “Don’t be a moron. Give me a different explanation.”

Only Clarke noticed Lexa’s face turn ashen. When Clarke reached out for her hand she shook her head and pulled away.

“No one knows about your existence there or your research, correct?” Sinclair lowered his voice unnecessarily. “You haven’t made any contact with Jake. And no one followed you back to the 21st century—that we know of—no one followed any of you. It’s been relatively quiet, right?”

“Yes. Except Clarke can’t make pancakes worth shit, but yes it’s been quiet.”

Raven signed out in the middle of Sinclair’s protest and went back downstairs.

* * *

“Lexa,” Clarke asked. “What’s wrong?”

Lexa looked out through the windows, just _gone._ Clarke had never seen anything like it. Her lover didn’t get like this, maybe the few times a day she meditated and communed with the other _Hedas,_ but this was different. This was anguish. 

Even when they’d come through, Lexa had been the one to stop Clarke from completely losing it. She’d waited patiently until Clarke had almost broken her foot kicking a tree in disbelief at the utterly fucked turn of events. They didn’t even like each other when they came through. They hated each other and Clarke still wanted to kill her. Lexa’s preternatural calm had been mortifying and infuriating. 

Lexa was unshakable, normally. Now, horrifyingly, she looked pale and terrified. Octavia reached out a tentative hand and thought better of it. 

Lexa started to speak and had to try again several times. She pulled her big, warm sweater tight around her and she looked very young, and she looked very spooked. She looked like she had at TonDC. Clarke managed to get hold of one of her hands, but Lexa didn’t relax.

“We need to go downstairs and talk to Raven, talk to Bellamy. We’re in grave danger.”

“Lex—“

“Is it _not_ obvious?” Lexa snapped. “ _Emo laik hir_.”

The four of them found Bellamy and Raven rummaging around the kitchen finishing the abandoned sandwiches Clarke had half-started. She really was the worst.

“Who wants ham and who wants turkey? I have avocado, some good cheddar, oooh jalapeños, uhm… mayo, tomatoes—“

Lexa cleared her throat. “I’d like ham, please.”

Raven was almost done with the preparation, her mood had lifted considerably, and Bellamy and Octavia busied themselves with making Clarke and Abby something too, when Lexa leaned over the counter and held Raven’s forearm still. Raven stared down at the Commander’s hand, her jaw clenched, and then she raised her head to look into Lexa’s eyes.

“You should have told us this when we came, Raven. You need to tell us everything that happened to you, Sinclair, and Gina at Mount Weather. That was the first part in all of this, the catalyst.” Lexa took the knife out of Raven’s hand, silently daring any of them to stop her or question her.

When no one did she came around to where Raven stood and carefully lifted her shirt again, tracing the glyphs on her back.

“Here’s the other part of the message, the third. The first was the Mountain, the second was Jake’s instructions and now this is the third,” whispered Lexa, drained, and she closed her eyes. “And now I’ll listen to anything you have to say, Raven. Because there is someone out there trying to reach us, trying to help us. A message was sent, but not to any of us, not to me. Only to you, Raven, and only you were to understand it. This is old. Older than anything you can imagine. We should have known they would come. I should have known.”

“Who are they?” Clarke said, “Lexa?”

“It’s a message,” said Lexa. “Now I know what it is. And now I think you’d better listen to what I have to say.”

Her words, though spoken softly, had the effect of bringing the howling gale into the house—a sudden, cold wind inside the mind. It nearly froze their hearts.

Bellamy and Raven did the only thing they could think of doing. They sat and ate their sandwiches, and gestured for Clarke and Abby to sit. Even Lexa took a few bites of her own before setting it down and reaching for the wine she preferred. Octavia hopped up on the counter and took a swig of whiskey and then a bite of her sandwich. And then Lexa began to speak.

* * *

Lexa talked well into the night. She talked until daybreak. There was no room warm enough for any of them after she stopped, no early light streaking through a window to brighten anyone’s mood, no sun came through filtered by clouds outside. The storm still howled around them and cut them off from everything.

Cigarette smoke curled out through the partially open windows, up into the rafters of the old farmhouse. Jake had been kind enough to leave them cigarettes here. It calmed Abby—an indulgence that relaxed her once in a while. All the old movies, with all the cigarettes and angst and long, meaningful looks; she’d loved them.

Lexa had begun this with a quiet declaration: They’re known as _Istari_ , the Immortals, created by the One.

Lexa had told it all, leaving out nothing. She remembered and she explained it as best she could—culled together from old teachings, wives’ tales, things Anya had told her to scare her awake on long hunts, small passages hidden in the texts of books, stories that had more weight than even _Natblida,_ Becca Pramheda, and the mythos of the Flame _,_ more important than the first destruction of their world, because there were many worlds and how important could this one be? She listed everything—names, incidents, and cities ... assassinations. All in the past, all throughout history as she understood it.

“Everything fits. It’s the truth. It’s why we were sent back.”

“Immortal assassins. Sure.” Abby was the first one to speak. Her tone was reasonable. At this point nothing was out of the realm of possibility.

“No,” Lexa said. “Not assassins. Guardians… who kill. Sometimes. If necessary.”

“But Nia sent—“ Raven began. 

Lexa shook her head, “Nia is shrewd, she’s vicious, but details and nuance escape her. What or who she thought she sent to destroy _Maun-de_ was something else altogether, certainly not an ordinary killer. _You_ were incidental to Nia, but extremely important to whatever you encountered that night.”

“I just happened to be there,“ Raven confirmed, “In the way.”

“Yes. If the assassin had been Ice Nation, and _Azgeda_ had known it, then you would be dead. But no, you were not a lesser detail to the Being who came for you. You were its target, and it made sure you lived. There’s no way anyone would have survived that explosion otherwise.”

“You know _Istari_ is a borrowed name, right?” Clarke tried not to smile, “It’s from an old, old book. About Elves and Men of the West and Rings and… Wizards. Lords and Wraiths and whatever.”

Lexa put her hand on Clarke’s cheek briefly. “We borrowed a lot of things from before the Cataclysm, like that particular tale borrowed from myth and legend and language. _Istari_ , as a name, sufficed for our time after the Fall. When we didn’t deserve to create anything new, we borrowed from what had been. And anyways, no one thought to change it. I was one of the few who could read in more than one tongue. I know where it’s from.”

Lexa smiled for the first time, remembering. “It was either that or the Justice League.”

“They’re not immortal, nerd.” Bellamy said.

“Nerd?” Lexa looked adorably confused.

“Why were we sent back, Lexa?” Raven asked. “Why us? Why me?” 

Everyone was tired. It was a fair question.

Lexa actually shrugged. Something she never did. “We’re here to avoid an apocalypse. It’s in Jacob’s notes. Novikov's Self-Consistency Principle—there is only one timeline, and people who go in the past to change the past have already changed the past and that it was destined to happen all along. If they’ve sent us back to do it, it can be done. And if _TaimKru_ are here, if they really are the reason _we_ are here, in this past, to attempt the unimaginable, then all the factions are here too.”

“Factions?” Octavia groaned.

“Of course. For every point of light, there is an equal darkness. For every Order of the Overworld, there is an opposing fraternity of the Underworld. Our friend here,” Lexa tilts her head at Raven, “has been marked. Do not ever doubt that Jacob Griffin was marked as well. In the same way.”

“He had no—his body was his own,” Abby whispered.

“So is mine, Abby.” Raven stared at her.

Clarke cleared her throat, “Well, that’s our best guess given what we know from Dad’s journal and this whole bizarre set-up.” She gestured vaguely at everything, “We’ve been given everything we need, and we’re making it up as we go along. We think we’re trying to save the world. We have a cute little nascent artificial intelligence that cares a whole lot about people in a way that ALIE didn’t. What else is there? What are we missing?”

“And why are the _Istari_ —or whoever _oh my god_ can we call them anything but that—here and branding me and then dumping me in snowdrifts? I mean—“ Raven muttered.

“I wish I knew.” Lexa straightened her shoulders, stretching. “But now, it’s a certainty that we have company. We just don’t know who will show up first.”

“Either way,” Bellamy sighed, “Doesn't suck to be Gandalf the White.”

* * *

It was almost 10 in the morning, but with the weather like it was, it might as well have been midnight. The room was dark even with the curtains open. 

Abby unfurled her legs out from under her, from where she sat in the large overstuffed chair, and took off her reading glasses. Jake had even left a few of those around for all of them. She must have dozed for an hour. The last blast of wind had jolted her awake.

“That looks uncomfortable.” Raven peered at her groggily, her voice rough with sleep. “How long have you been there?”

“For awhile.”

“Stop worrying.”

Raven could feel Abby’s unsettled mood through her skin, and perversely welcomed it. Raven was just as worn out and spooked. She would even welcome a fight if that’s what they needed to do to work this all out, make them feel like they had some control over anything that was happening.

Everything was just a little too much right now, and sleep wasn’t helping. Raven’s dreams were confusing and chaotic. She wanted to fight someone or something that was real and right in front of her. No more ghosts with her face appearing out of storms, like in the dream she’d just been startled out of a deep sleep from.

“How’s your leg?” Abby asked softly, her tone was easy, curious. She was clearly going to avoid whatever fight Raven was planning, and Raven sat back, disappointed.

“Healed. I mean, the wounds are gone, no burns. It’s… fine?” Raven answered, flummoxed.

“Stand up?” 

Raven did.

“Oh, wow.”

“Walk, sweetheart.” Abby murmured.

Raven complied. And then sat down just as quickly, all the color drained out of her face. Her leg was strong, solid. Working. “Let’s not wake anyone else up, just yet. Okay?”

Abby slipped the glasses back on and began a gentle and thorough examination of Raven’s leg. She turned her, just as Lexa had, and ran her hands over where the incision _used to be_ from the unanaesthetized surgery. Gone. She went through the motions again one more time, just to be sure, ignoring Raven’s growing impatience.

“I need you to undress. Can you do that?”

Raven stripped off her shirt and smiled. “You’ve checked me twice.” She snapped the waistband of her briefs, raising her eyebrows. She felt fantastic.

“I know.” Abby gently tugged Raven closer. “Keep those on. This is surreal for me, too.” The last part was to herself, but Raven heard her say it.

“Just stay here. I need to get my med-kit.” Abby said.

Raven held Abby’s hand. “I’m okay.”

Abby looked at her. “I need to be sure this isn’t the _Natblida_. I need to be absolutely sure.”

“It’s not.” Raven said. “You know it’s not. We’ve been trying for months with the black blood. My leg—nothing worked.”

Abby lifted the covers and held them up until Raven, after glaring at her, climbed back into bed.

And Abby couldn’t look away. She’d seen Raven in her underwear before. She’d managed for months to ignore what she felt, but something about tonight wasn’t allowing her to do that anymore. She could have lost her out there, in the storm, to whatever had happened to her.

The energy pouring off Raven was different. There was very little confusion or distress; she was exultant. She hadn’t bothered to put her shirt back on, and Abby could see that her body, even in the twilight of the room, was extraordinary. And distracting. She was all muscle and curves, her breasts were small and firm and she exuded insouciant beauty and strength. 

Abby ran her hands down Raven’s taut stomach absently. She could feel the small tremors as Raven responded to her touch. 

“My leg’s still sore but—“ 

“I know.” Abby smoothed her hands over Raven’s skin, palpating it mildly.

“Okay. Ow.”

“Lean back.” Abby said, still searching for some sign that what was obviously happening right in front of her wasn’t true. Raven’s leg was nearly what it had been when they first met, on the Ark. The muscles clearly still ached but the healing, on the surface, was phenomenal, and it was real. She couldn’t figure it out. She almost didn’t want to. She wanted to deal with facts, not speculation.

“Just let it be, Abby.” Raven said. “Unless you’d rather I was still a cripple?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Abby said, absently, deep in thought. Then she leaned down, and kissed her forehead. Her hand rested just above Raven’s heart. “Stay here. Sleep. We can wait to figure this out later tonight when we’ve all had some rest.” 

Abby was naturally affectionate. It drove Raven up the fucking wall. Anytime Abby touched her lately her insane crush just— _fuck._ She drew back helplessly on the bed. There was nowhere to go and Abby’s hand didn’t move. Raven tried to think of anything else she could do to gain some control over herself. Starting a fight seemed reasonable again, she should do that. 

“I’m surprised this didn’t happen sooner, you know? I mean, considering we’re back in time at least a century and a half, give or take, before Murphy shot me and everything else. This disability technically hasn’t even happened to me yet.” Raven waved her hand at her leg and tried not to respond to Abby’s attention and the warmth of her hands. Abby’s absolute, innate authority and competence was an insane turn-on. Raven admitted that to herself a long time ago. She kind of had to just live with it.

The first thing she’d noticed about Abby was her heart; the second thing she noticed was her compassion. The third thing she noticed was her own unbelievably heated physical reaction to her anytime she was anywhere near her. She’d cried in relief when she discovered Abby had come with her through the time slip. 

When she’d seen Abby walking towards her across the parking lot, an impossible hope realized, hands hesitantly rose in greeting as if they both didn’t believe it, she’d fallen to her knees speechless and both of them had cried. And then she’d kicked her own ass and got over it. Because Abby Griffin was off fucking limits in a big way; Clarke would annihilate her.

Abby might annihilate her. Either way.

And really, sex was like the last thing on anyone’s mind back then.

What Abby was doing, going through the motions of a full physical, wasn’t new either but Raven was responding to her in a way she’d managed to get under control before now. She’d taken up yoga, started rudimentary combat training with Lexa, Octavia, and the others (quite a pleasant way to pass time), and gone exploring for hours with Clarke and Bellamy. Walked for miles on the beach alone, the water soothing her sore leg and hip when she couldn’t go further.

God knows it was annoying and frustrating enough to live with Clarke and Lexa going at it all the time.

“Abby? I’m serious. Was it more comfortable for you when I was injured?”

“Raven, I will destroy your leg myself if you suggest that again.” Abby said mildly.

“K.”

Raven, without really thinking about it, grabbed Abby’s hand and drew it down slowly until it rested against her stomach. “I don’t think this storm is natural.”

Abby ran slow circles over Raven’s belly, up under her ribcage and back down along her waistband, relaxing her. Calming both of them, and lulling Raven into a pleasant haze of mild arousal. _She isn’t even aware of what she’s doing. It’s just who she is_ , Raven thought.

“Lexa doesn’t either. It’s been unseasonably cold, but storms like this… it’s beautiful and uncanny. And you were… attacked or _something_. So no, nothing about this weather is normal.”

“We didn’t even know about weather, or seasons, rain, snow, not really, not until we came down to Earth. It still makes me wild. I feel like a kid, you know?”

Abby smiled, “I do know. Remember the hurricane last year?”

It had been just weeks after they’d all figured out that Jake might be unstuck in time, as well. Abby had been mute with confusion and grief by the possibility. Clarke and Raven had walked with her down to the beach, just below the cliffs and they’d watched the hurricane come in.

They’d stood there for an hour, letting something beyond their control do with them what it could. It had been exhilarating, dangerous and somehow it brought Abby back from god knows where she’d gone. They’d begun their work in earnest after that.

“I do. It was—” Abby didn’t finish her thought as she gently extracted her hand from Raven’s grip, and she continued to stroke Raven’s body.

“Oh.” Raven shivered. _God, maybe Abby knows exactly what she’s doing._

“You feel wonderful,” Abby said quietly.

“Let's celebrate?” Raven said, only half joking.

Abby stopped the movement of her hand and reached up to brace her arms on either side of Raven’s shoulders. She leaned over her. They watched each other for a few long moments.

Abby kissed Raven.

“You’re sure you’re alright?” Abby asked.

“If you check me over again and keep pretending you’re being professional, _I_ might kill _you_ ,” Raven whispered. “I’m an assassin, or whatever, now. I can do that.”

“God, you’re beautiful,” Raven heard Abby say. 

She rubbed her palm over her eyes and looked directly into Abby’s. “Don’t stop. Please. We deserve this tonight.” 

Abby shifted again, positioning her lower body between Raven’s legs in one strong, fluid movement, and Raven drew in a sharp, surprised breath.

“I need this, too. I need to make sure—”

“That I’m alive? Real? I am.” Raven’s smile was soft, understanding. “I know I am. You’re making me crazy.” 

“Good.” Abby closed her eyes briefly and settled her body fully over Raven’s. The feeling was indescribable. Raven’s hips shifted and she opened herself as Abby stretched her body out. She drew her arms around Abby’s neck and traced her hand down the center of Abby’s chest and finally skimmed her fingers underneath the edge of Abby’s shirt, running her other hand through her hair and pulling it away from her face.

This was nice. Slow. They were talking. This was not impossible and awkward. No one was flipping out. This wasn’t weird. She wanted this so _much_. She didn’t know if she could do slow and said so.

Abby’s response was to reach between them and unbutton the fastenings on her pants and bring her hips flush against Raven’s center. Raven almost did lose her mind, then.

“Take this off,” Raven said. “Your shirt. Take it off. I need—“

Abby raised herself up on her knees and complied without a word. Raven reached out to help her undo her bra. She slipped her hands underneath the straps and drew them over Abby’s shoulders.

“Don’t move.” Abby said, her sounded tight, barely under control, “I want you to watch me.”

Abby reached around and undid the clasp and let the fabric fall just enough so that the tops of her breast and her nipples were exposed, pebbling as Raven watched, and she ached to touch them. Heat, skin against skin, in the chill air of the room.

Raven reached out, and Abby allowed Raven to run her thumbs just past them, not directly over them, never quite touching them and Abby’s hips moved in the rhythm Raven set as she swiped over the same spot again and again. Raven’s hands were warm and calloused. The roughness never quite giving Abby the satisfaction she wanted.

“Like that,” Abby whispered.

“You need to apologize,” Raven said, settling back, not willing to stop what she was doing at all, even if Abby decided she wanted to take control again.

Raven was not at all willing to stop the very obvious effect her hands had on Abby, the way her body responded was intoxicating. She felt the heat between Abby’s legs. She saw the slight flush appearing across Abby’s chest. Abby’s pleasure was obvious and blinding and it was the best thing Raven had ever felt or seen. She was in so much trouble.  

“Apologize for what?” Abby said.  

“For waiting this long. You’ve made me wait years.” Raven said, going for casual. Which was complete bullshit. She was anything but casual. She might faint.

Abby didn’t say anything, and she didn’t protest, and then she reached for one of Raven’s hands and made sure that Raven’s thumb and fingers _finally_ circled her nipples and tugged lightly at them. Raven, about to say something else, gasped at Abby’s immediate and undeniable response, she felt it on her stomach and thighs and she shut up.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Abby said, after a long few minutes of falling deeper and deeper into the feeling of Raven giving her what she wanted—direct, ungentle hunger—and she desperately tried not to come as Raven played with her, rolled her breasts through her fingers, molding them in her palms gently and then more insistently as she began to take what she wanted too, selfish in her desire.

Abby looked down at Raven, through soft gasps and smiled, “I do want you.”

Abby eased herself down again, so Raven’s hands filled with the full, smooth weight of Abby’s breasts, her thumbs flicking lightly over and over and she brought her mouth up to circle one and then the other with her tongue and lips—smooth, warm and slow—until Abby shuddered and moaned against her ear and the pace of her undulating hips began to speed up.

Abby’s eyes shone with relief and hope; more hope than Raven had seen in a long time, and Raven let Abby kiss her.

Raven’s hand shifted to the small of Abby’s back, and she pushed Abby forward so she could continue sucking Abby’s breasts and cup her ass in an attempt to draw off the pants Abby still wore. They should be off by now. Abby stripped out of them, leaving only her underwear on. She threw her bra somewhere across the room. Abby reached down and wiped at Raven’s eyes with the pad of her thumb; the look on her face soft and solemn. Raven had no idea she was crying.

Abby knelt next to her and cupped her face and they kissed for a long time. Raven felt the banked, eager energy of Abby’s body against her, the need for release in her own body. She didn’t want this to be quick but she might come from just a kiss. It was possible. No, actually she knew she would.

“Abby—” she gasped, not sure what she could do anymore to stop a really embarrassing spontaneous orgasm. Abby hadn’t even really touched her yet for Christ’s sake, and then Abby kissed her again, her tongue running across her lips, asking for permission to deepen what had been, up until now, just exploration.  

Abby settled over her, her arms holding her up so she could see Raven’s eyes. Raven’s breath came erratically in relief and growing panic—she was sure Abby knew how hair-trigger she was because she saw dark amusement flash in her eyes—

“Not yet, Raven. Let me.” Abby said into her ear. “Wait for me, okay?”

Abby let her full weight press Raven back into the bed, forcefully reminding her that Abby needed to be in control right now, that Raven wanted to do what she said—“Hard. I need you fast.” And then she shut up abruptly, mortified at herself for—

Abby just made an approving, loving sound and Raven lost focus when Abby’s teeth and tongue slid down her neck and back up across her jawline, and Abby’s hands came between them to play with her tits, plucking at them and cataloguing Raven’s reactions, all of them. 

Abby sighed out her pleasure and pulled back a little to watch Raven begin to unravel. 

“Oh,” Raven grabbed Abby’s shoulders and Abby bit down on her lower lip, and then soothed the bite with her tongue. 

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Raven whispered. “What are you—?”

Abby’s warm, wet tongue skated just past one of Raven’s nipples, and she lost it completely, her body took over and utterly betrayed her, and she moaned embarrassingly loudly and she _came_. She came really hard and fast, surprising both of them. She _literally_ saw stars and lost the ability to breathe. When she came back to herself a little bit, Abby looked delighted and smug.

“Yes,” Raven said, looking up at her. Somewhere that made perfect sense. _Here_ , Raven still couldn’t speak in anything resembling coherent sentences.

Abby tangled her hand through Raven’s hair, and watched her, and she tried to interpret what she’d just heard, “Hard. You want it hard.”

Abby didn’t wait for an answer; she was unrelenting—brushing her tongue just past, but not on the underside of her breast, a place Abby had discovered was incredibly sensitive—and Raven realized, with relief bordering on collapse, that she was going to get exactly what she’d really been asking for.

She managed to nod against Abby’s neck, the only thing she could do besides being as blunt and crude as possible and take over, bringing Abby’s fingers or tongue or whatever _at this point she doesn’t really care_ between her legs. The ache to be filled and fucked was unreal, and growing. She heard herself cursing in frustration 

Abby moved languidly against her, laughing softly, murmuring to her, drawing this out so Raven could feel how wet she was, how wet they both were–that neither of them were alone in this— and before Raven knew what was going on, her hand moved of its own volition and slipped underneath Abby’s underwear. 

“Oh, _Jesus_. Raven,” Abby stilled and panted above her. Sweat dripped from Abby’s temple onto Raven’s lips and she drew her tongue over the salt and then slanted her head and pulled Abby towards her and kissed her. They deepened the kiss, tasted themselves on the other one, wondered why they had waited so long. They kissed gently for long moments, murmuring in the back of their throats, and eased each other into inchoate pleasure. 

Raven pushed her fingers right through Abby’s hot, slick folds and entered her; she felt Abby tighten up briefly at the unfamiliar stretch and length of her fingers.

Abby stared down at her, her light, astonishing amber eyes challenging. She held herself up and tried desperately not to thrust against Raven’s hand, and then almost collapsed on top of her when Raven moved in and out of her, barely, with just enough intent that Abby couldn’t mistake that she was teasing her into submission.

Raven sighed and leaned forward to touch her forehead to Abby’s, both of them intoxicated, and it felt wonderful and so suspended in bliss except that she completely missed Abby tugging down her briefs in one swift, decisive motion and Abby’s hand was right _there_ , where she needed it, circling her clit. And she shouted in surprise and relief.

She didn’t even recognize herself anymore. The sounds she was making were pleading and satisfied, with her mouth buried in Abby’s chest. Abby whispered anything and everything she could think of, everything she’d wanted to tell Raven since they met. She was reasonably sure neither would remember anything she said, afterwards.

Raven surged up, opened her legs and grabbed Abby’s wrist—her legs spreading automatically—without taking her other hand from where it was buried between Abby’s thighs, and she arched up against Abby for all she was worth, begged for purchase against any part of Abby’s body she could reach. _Oh my god._

“Do it,” she said fiercely, and Abby leaned forward and kissed her again and began to fuck her in earnest, fingers curving upwards— her thumb sliding rhythmically over Raven’s hardened, oversensitive clit.

This was exactly what she wanted. She wanted it rough and unsentimental but Abby always surprised her, and broke her heart a little every time she stroked through, powerful and unrelenting. Every thrust opened her heart.

Abby reached up and wrapped her hand around Raven’s neck, gently, in direct contrast to how hard she was fucking Raven. Raven was pulsing and falling apart around Abby’s hand and she blindly reached out to cup Abby’s jaw, to let her know that she felt her and wanted her and they were in this space together, and she brought Abby towards her for a wildly uncoordinated kiss.

The kiss was so sloppy and amateurish and lewd she started laughing. She wanted to take a time out and ask for a do-over and apologize and leave the room and maybe die. Abby laughed against her mouth and kissed her back, barely making a better job of it.

But the kiss deepened into sweetness, surrender, and assurance all at once. They kissed through the whole thing, their tongues sliding together and Abby’s teeth bit down on Raven’s tongue and she sucked on it, and caused just enough pain in the pleasure that Raven felt herself become even more impossibly wet and Abby wouldn’t let up. Her hand hadn’t stopped moving.

Raven had found a way to open herself up completely and she let Abby set a different pace, one where the drag of her hand left her unbearably lonely when she pulled out and so full when she stroked powerfully back inside her. Abby was fucking her and not letting her forget it.

“Wait. Baby.” Raven murmured against Abby’s ear and Abby stopped, her hand fully buried inside Raven. “Don’t move.”

Raven’s strong, young body pulsed around her hand, and Abby felt her take a deep breath and Raven closed her eyes, dropping her head back against the pillows and exposing her neck.

A sheen of sweat gleamed across her chest.

Raven was stunning at any other time, but she looked otherworldly when thoroughly unraveling, her soft hair fell around her shoulders and over her face. Abby brushed a few strands away from her eyes and kissed her—this time lovingly, a little bit shyly, languidly, with more feeling than she knew what to with. She let Raven rest and hoped she felt safe with her.

Raven started to rock against her hand again, just barely, and Abby felt Raven inside of her and she moved involuntarily against Raven’s hand, once, drenching Raven’s wrist with her silken. wet excitement. Raven moaned incoherently, and let loose a string of low curses. They might kill each other.

It felt so good, inside each other like this, fucking each other in one smooth, solid stretch. Hilariously, they lost their rhythms again almost immediately, like over-stimulated teenagers and they ended up rutting wildly, blissfully. Somehow Raven was able to place two fingers into Abby’s mouth and Abby sucked at them, tasting her. Raven drew them in and out, fucking Abby’s mouth and then she wiped them all over Abby’s lips and they kissed, tasting everything.

When Abby came the first time, the look on her face was indescribable, surprised and _happy_ and something else. Raven took one look at her and fell over the edge seconds later. She wasn’t even embarrassed anymore. Seriously, fuck that.

After the fourth orgasm, in as many positions, in as many hours (up against the wall, over the chair, Abby’s thighs wrapped around her face—her hands scratching at the wall for purchase, and somehow they managed to land under the bed at some point?) Raven _really_ couldn’t talk at all, and when Abby slipped down her body and brought her to a gentle, easy and loving fifth time, she passed out for a couple of minutes.

Abby couldn’t really move either and rested her head against her thigh, dozing and murmuring, quiet, satisfied sounds in the back of her throat, stroking her through her cunt gently, and then Raven blinked in surprise when Abby got out of bed and left. What is even going on? Is she— _what the fuck?_

She almost panicked, but really couldn’t find the energy because her brain melted a long time ago, and when Abby returned a few minutes later with a glass of water, Raven felt stupid. Where would Abby even go in a blizzard naked?

“Hey.” Abby said.

Raven turned on her side and let Abby slip back in, “Hi.”

She cupped Abby’s cheek and drew the pad of her thumb down from her temple to her the pulse point of her neck, the smooth, flushed skin glowing under her touch. Abby felt wonderful. Raven drew her in closer and Abby rested her cheek against Raven’s shoulder, running her fingers absently back and forth over Raven’s chest. 

“That felt like a Spacewalk,” Raven said.

“How so?” Abby’s voice was sleepy and warm, a vibration just below Raven’s heart. Raven swallowed against a growing constriction in her throat. She wouldn’t cry again.

“I’ve always loved sex,“ Raven said, “It’s always been good for me, you know? I’ve been lucky, I guess, I at least _liked_ everyone I’ve slept with—so that’s always been important. It’s fun. But I live up here.” She pointed to her head.

Abby turned in her arms to prop herself up and she leaned over Raven. She ran her thumb along Raven’s bottom lip, kissed her and listened.

“What I excel at is intellectual and practical problems, equations, math. Physics. Anything in its purest form makes me feel things even an orgasm can’t—and yeah, blowing bridges up and messing around with century old gunpowder gets me excited—but none of my relationships ever came close to being a Spacewalker.

Raven sat up a little and plucked absently at the edge of the quilt, “Nothing and no one. And I may never experience a Spacewalk again. The Ark is gone. In the future I’m disabled and broken and we live in a vicious world. Here I may be grounded forever, too. I could learn how to ride a horse? I could drive around in one of my electric jeeps…” she trailed off, the sadness in her voice sounded like it was crushing her, and she couldn’t look at Abby. If she did, she would see her watching her with the softest expression. She couldn’t bear pity.

Raven remained quiet for a long time. Abby drew a strand of Raven’s hair between her thumb and forefinger. She turned to face her when she had some control over her emotions and kissed Raven again, this time to comfort her, let her know she was with her.

“When I was out there, that’s a powerful experience. I saw the Earth, and I had one small tether holding me to the Ark. I didn’t even know you then, you were just a woman more powerful than I was, more powerful than anyone, a Councilor, and we passed one another sometimes in the halls or in the—I don’t know, you never looked at me, and I hated all of you, all your unilateral decisions, all your charters and laws. I hated your Class hierarchies and all of that bullshit— but when I was out _there_ I loved everyone. I can’t explain it except that I had a real feeling of love for _all_ of you. A personal love.”

“Even Kane?” Abby laughed softly.

“He was a asshole then, wasn’t he?” Raven smiled and kissed the side of Abby’s mouth.

“So was I.” Abby said.

“Monty and I talked about it sometimes. It was like the molecules in my body, and the molecules in everyone had been made in the ancient generation of stars we otherwise took for granted. The ones we saw every day and night outside the Ark, all older than Earth. Older than the first signs of life on Earth. And it set me free and I had a sense of joy and ecstasy that was just mine, but everyone could have it. I would always come back from being out there in the stars and in the vacuum… and I was always _free_ , Abby. It would take me a few days sitting with Sinclair and building useful shit out of practically nothing to ground myself. And then I would go back out.” 

“I can’t fall in love with you, Raven,” Abby said, sounding like she might cry. Raven blushed and looked down at her hands, realizing what _she_ sounded like—

“I’m talking way too much. Will you say something?” Raven said, shaking, and one of her hands reached for Abby. “No. Don’t say anything. Uhm. I’m starving. Can we go make something to eat?”

* * *

The light in the kitchen was only marginally better than anywhere else in the house and Abby, after staring blankly at Raven in an old pair of sweatpants and ratty tee-shirt that hugged every curve and plane of her in a really uncalled for way, forgot to ask Raven what she wanted and began to make waffles and bacon.

Raven fucked around with the coffee maker, still awkward and incomprehensible even for her, and refused to look at Abby.

Abby flipped the strips and craned her head back and stared at the ceiling like it would tell her what to say. She hoped the smell of bacon wouldn’t wake anyone else up but she knew she only had maybe ten minutes alone with Raven and she had to get this right. She had to fix this before it got very bad—worse than it already was.

“Raven, that came out really wrong. What I said upstairs—”

“I get it.”

Abby put the spatula down as gently as she could (or she was going to hurl it at Raven), lowered the heat on the stove, and placed everything on one of the back burners. Once she’d done that and got herself under control she came up behind Raven and leaned into her. She wrapped her arms around Raven and her mouth against Raven’s ear.

“I meant that I _can’t lose you_. I can’t do this again. I loved Jake and I killed Jake. It was my fault.” Abby rocked Raven gently in her arms, and tried desperately to telegraph her care, her admiration, and her desire through her touch.

But she was scared. Raven and she had been separated before and it was sheer luck that they ended up on the same continent. One wrong calculation, one overextended, rusty part overlooked part would have fucked up the atmospheric entry trajectory. She got dizzy when she thought about it. They could have ended up on different continents. They could have lost each other in the time slips. They were _living a miracle, not once, but twice,_ and it terrified them both.

“You always told me the truth, that I’d sent Clarke down here to die—“

“Don’t,” Clarke whispered, harshly. And Abby knew without looking that she was wiping at her eyes, trying not to cry. 

“You didn’t do it, Mom. You can’t keep doing this and throwing up roadblocks every time you get scared.”

Raven collapsed ungracefully against the sink. Abby turned slowly to face Clarke.

“Dad _lied._ He wasn’t who he said he was. He’s part of a—I have no idea what he’s a part of. I didn’t understand half of what Lexa was saying. But Dad? He’s _alive_ somewhere and won’t fucking show himself. So no. No fucking way. You do _not_ get to run or avoid the best thing that’s happened to you since we came down to the Ground.”

“Congratulations, ladies!” Bellamy came up behind Clarke and kissed her on the top of the head before heading over to the stove and rearranging and restarting what Abby had begun. “It’s about time. High five, Reyes! Can you hand me that bowl of fruit in the refrigerator?”

“Oh. No goddamn way.” Raven stared at him and then blushed furiously.

“Yep. We had a bet. Pay up, Princess.”

“Lexa was very clear.” Octavia came in, yawning. “MMm. Is that bacon? No, yeah. Lexa was super clear actually. Jake is a… I don’t even know, part of a fraternity of Time Travelers and Assassins? Generally, on the side of Good? Or something. It’s pretty simple, but we just don’t know the rules yet or why we were sent back. There has to be a reason he can’t show himself to us." 

“Maybe because in our timeline Abby and Clarke saw him die?”

“OOH. Good theory, Big Blake. Yeah, so Clarke’s dad’s death is in their memory, in the Griffin cellular memory.” Lexa touches the side of her nose, and points at O. in agreement. It’s a weird habit she’s picked up from Octavia and Octavia continues. “That’s a hard re-set to accomplish. Maybe he is here but in a parallel universe. He could be standing right next to us.”

“No Octavia, absolutely not.” Clarke snaps. 

“Yes Octavia. Okay. Don’t get upset. And now Raven has new immortal, assassin super-powers **.** ”

“How come?”

“Let’s start another betting pool that all her injuries and wounds and all of it have been cured, mysteriously.” Octavia drank her orange juice. “Because I’d so win that shit again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to madcowmama for beta magic. anything good about this one is totally her fault. she is magic.


	7. Doctor Mechanic Week: Sports AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke is seriously injured on the pitch. Raven blames herself. Abby is furious.
> 
> Basically, that one time Raven was an asshole. because Raven is Everything. And Raven, in the whole history of the World, has never been an asshole. So this is like, what?

Clarke is unconscious when they carry her off the pitch.

Octavia and Raven fly down from the stands, and flank her on either side. They hold her limp hands while surrounded by her teammates.

Standing over her in the hospital, Lexa tells her the hit was vicious and premeditated.

She says the opposing player, Ontari, a known psychopath, did it deliberately and was thrown out of the game.

She’s crying as she says this. Clarke doesn’t know who this beautiful girl with startling green eyes is, but lets her talk, knows that they have some strong connection to each other and hears everything she says like it's a fairytale.

It’s happened to someone else, in a far-away place filled with phosphorescent butterflies. It’s fascinating.

She can’t believe what she’s hearing. A helicopter flew her out of the stadium, to a trauma center nearby.

She’s admitted to the emergency room sometime Saturday afternoon.

* * *

“Raven? Hey. We’re going to have lunch with Clarke. She’s still sedated but we want to see her. Come, okay? I think we could do this in shifts after—“

Raven doesn’t even look up from wrapping her knee and Lexa trails off.

“Answer me, Raven.” Lexa waits a few moments until Raven lifts her head and stares at her blankly.

Lexa draws in a deep breath. “At least don’t insult me by suggesting you have better things to do.”

* * *

She doesn’t remember anything about that day, or even the day before, or several days after.

She wakes up disoriented and nauseous and throws up violently. She’s vaguely aware of shapes and shadows, blinding light, someone holds her arm and administers a shot. There’s a short, sharp pain and she gratefully passes out again.

Her dreams are terrible—unmoored and frightening. The nurses find her moaning in her sleep, tears slipping down her cheeks.

In her nightmares she’s unable to self-arrest, can't stop herself from sliding down the cliff she’s on. She falls more than a thousand feet, gaining speed all the way with only a rock wall to stop her.

She slams her head against it, shattering her brain, and watches helplessly as her leg twists into something unrecognizable.

Faceless, nameless shapes materialize and hover over her, unemotionally assessing her condition and they watch her bleed out. They discuss her case, as if she isn’t right there, writhing in agony.

They start taking bets on her chances of making it out alive.

* * *

Room No. 980 in the intensive care unit becomes her home for the next four weeks. She’s in a medically induced coma for half that time.

She has no idea about the string of visitors that come daily, that sit with her for hours, taking shifts until they have to rotate back into their own punishing academic, training or daily schedules. They leave cards and flowers and balloons.

Two particular visitors come without fail. One of them, both of them, always introduce themselves to her once during the start of their visit and once before they leave. Octavia and Lexa. They both kiss her and she’s sure they know her extremely well.

In the days she’s conscious, she acknowledges them with her eyes, two women who hold each other tightly as they enter the room, make jokes that have her feeling normal for a few seconds and they sleep with their heads on her stomach, hands over her heart or sprawled out on the couch near her bed.

She forgets them as soon as they leave, but notices that it happens less and less. She remembers them for longer periods of time every day.

* * *

The woman who stands over her is unfairly beautiful. She’s talking to her in a low, even voice. She’s professional, calm, and modulated, and there’s an undercurrent of deep concern. It’s so obvious and wonderful that Clarke recognizes it even in her extreme disorientation.

The woman’s eyes are fierce with care. Clarke has the strangest feeling she should know her and trust her.

“Clarke, welcome back.”

The doctor is holding Clarke’s arm and she moves it once to acknowledge she can hear her. Whatever drugs she’s been given are really fucking strong, and she’s kind of psyched that she can register that and she still has some sense of humor, because wow whatever they gave her...

There’s a low throb in her head, but the sharp spikes of pain are gone and she can handle the low light in the room.

“… inserted a tube in your brain to help drain fluid and monitor intracranial pressure. Your ACL...“

Raven, standing behind Abby, is paralyzed with fear. She knows that Clarke’s in a really fucked situation she can’t do anything about—this might take her out of the season, out of the Olympic trials—and Raven makes that awful connection in such a subconscious part of herself that her body shuts down defensively.

She gets furious rather than deal with the fear, and when Abby turns to ask her something she’s already gone.

* * *

“Raven, come on. We’re going to visit Clarke. Get the fuck out of bed.”

Raven doesn’t answer and doesn’t move. She can hear Octavia muttering to herself, _are goddamn serious right now?_

“It’s been _three_ weeks since you’ve visited Clarke. You can’t just—“ Octavia stops abruptly and Raven knows that Lexa’s there.

Only Lexa can shut Octavia down when she’s about to go rabid.

It’s quiet. Raven feels Lexa’s eyes boring into her. _Nothing_ provokes Lexa. So the disappointment and hurt she hears in Lexa’s voice is crushing.

“She’s getting out in a week. Abby’s taking her to the beach house to start rehab. If you want to say goodbye—“

Raven doesn’t move and Lexa bends down to put her hand on her head and murmur into her ear. “It wasn’t your fault.”

* * *

“Where the hell is she.” Abby snaps.

Lexa can’t really believe she’s seeing Abby lose it. She’s seen Abby seethe quietly, she’s seen her fight with Clarke and she’s heard many, _many_ stories about how she’s demolished obstinate board members, rationally and inexorably. But she’s never seen her about to throw the nearest chair at a wall.

Doctor Abby Griffin is appalled and ferocious when she’s truly angry. _No one_ abandons her kid or gets to hide away when Clarke needs them. When _she_ needs them.

Octavia folds her arms over her chest, rolls her eyes and looks extremely vindicated. “She’s being an asshole.”

“Where is she?” Abby demands, quietly. Which is even more terrifying than her yelling.

Clarke shifts her head gingerly to stare at them all, her eyes are clear. “Where is she?” She repeats the question.

* * *

Wick answers the door.

“Hi, is Raven here?” Abby doesn’t take her sunglasses off.

“Oh hey, Doctor Griffin.” Wick drawls in that way that makes Abby want to slap his face off, “Not at the moment.”

“Let her know I came by. I’m at the hospital with Clarke, her best friend. Today and tomorrow, and the next day, and so on. We’ve been there for over three weeks. So whenever she wants to visit is fine.”

Wick just stares at her, clearly mortified for Raven. And appalled rigt now that he’s associated with her in any way possible.

“Got it,” he whistles and then says, seriously. “Fuck, I’m—that’s not good.”

Abby rethinks her opinion of him. “Clarke is asking for her, so sooner is better than later.”

* * *

Abby’s heart constricts when she looks at Clarke’s pale skin and shadowed eyes. A massive, ugly bruise spreads from her right temple down the side of her face.

She looks young and fragile, about the furthest thing from who she is, even if she’s still and always will be her child. Abby reaches her hand out to stroke away a few strands of sun-gold hair that have fallen over her eyes.

Clarke stirs at the touch.

“Hi,” Abby says softly. “Sorry, It’s time for your medication.”

Clarke moans despite herself. The pain is gone; it’s the remembered pain that spooks her and she lifts her head and tests her mobility.

“Gently, okay?” Abby says, not happy with the sound Clarke just made.

She unobtrusively takes her vitals and does a cursory once-over. She’s long since given Clarke’s care over to an exemplarity team of specialists, but she can’t help looking her over as well.

“You’re doing fine. Great, actually, but I don’t want you to push anything beyond your scheduled PT. You need rest and more rest. I know it’s driving you crazy.”

“My ACL is standard operating procedure for an athlete at my level. That’s what you told me. My brain injury—“

“Your _traumatic_ brain injury. I know. Your ACL is almost fine, a few more weeks of physical therapy and water therapy and it’s going to be okay. You’ll need to rebuild some muscle tone and flexibility issues can be—“ Abby ran her hand through her hair in mild frustration. “Sweetheart, your memory is going to be coming back in fits and starts. Maybe over the next few days or the next few years, we can’t say for sure. You have shortened attention span; you’re easily distracted; and you’re easily spooked and over stimulated even in normal environments.”

“Right? So?”

“Sometimes, you still don’t know who I am.” Abby says.

* * *

When Lexa drops off the bags of groceries. Abby lets Clarke doze off again and comes into the kitchen to help.

“She’s here.” Lexa says.

Abby pauses taking items out of the bag, blinks unseeing at a can of tomato sauce and then continues what she’s doing as if Lexa hadn’t said anything.

“She rented a place off Bedford. She’s been watching the game film from when Clarke got hurt.” Lexa takes a deep breath, “She thinks it’s her fault.”

Abby slams down a box of pasta, “That makes no sense. What—“

“She slept with that player. A few months ago when she and Wick were on a break. She’s been doing that more and more since Finn died, like that’s the way she can cope. She’s just… coping. And the woman she fucked around with wanted more.”

Abby looks at Lexa, unbelieving. “She thinks Ontari went after Clarke because of _that?”_

“It was messy. Raven had to get a retraining order. Ontari is out of her damn mind. She’s unstable.”

Abby just shakes her head, mute with confusion. “Why would Raven _ever_ think—“

“Raven can blame herself for just about anything, Abby. She’s hurting. She won’t talk to anyone, not just Clarke.”

“That’s the most narcissistic—what?— idiot… “

“Abby I know. I know, okay? But Raven blames herself. That’s all I can tell you.”

Abby nods once.

“But, Abby. She’s _here._ ”

* * *

It’s raining when Raven hits the beach at 5 am. The sand is packed, hard, and perfect for running without her sneakers. She leaves them by the boardwalk stairs and makes her way towards the ocean to start her stretches.

She times it every morning so that she’s done and sitting out of view when Clarke comes down here with her PT trainers. They’ll come no matter what, no matter what kind of weather or how adverse the surf conditions are.

Clarke is strong. Really strong. The protocol she’s working through has practically made her even more so than before the incident.

The messages Abby and Lexa leave on her voicemail only give her the details about the concussion. She has questions about how water therapy is going to help with brain injury rehabilitation but figures the trainers must know what they’re doing.

They’d fixed her leg. They can fix Clarke.

So Raven runs. She runs five miles out to the breakwater and five miles back to her secret spot. The wind and rain are bracing and she feels fantastic. She feels fantastic enough not to want to cry for a good twenty minutes afterwards as she cools down. That’s the best she can do for herself these days.

She’s timed it so she has a half an hour before Clarke comes. She can get her shit together and not break down when she watches the sessions. These 20 to 30 minutes are the best part of her life now.

Abby and Lexa call regularly and she doesn’t, hasn’t ever. answered. When Clarke started calling she thought she would die.

* * *

“What happened to Clarke was nobody's fault.” Abby says from behind her, scaring the shit out of her. “It was a premeditated attack, and I’m guessing you’re not _that_ good in bed. And Ontari is a head case. So.”

Raven, thank god, remembers that she needs to breath before Abby continues.

“It’s a sport. And Clarke is exceptional. Exceptional things happen on the pitch. _Things_ happen. Ontari’s been suspended for the season. She’ll miss the Olympics. Her career’s finished.”

Raven flexes her fingers slowly, a nervous habit, but can’t turn around. She hopes the rain will wash her away. She thinks about running.

“You understand me?” Abby snaps. “It was not your fault.”

Raven throws on her faded MIT sweatshirt and pulls the hood over her head. And then she turns around. She can’t quite focus on Abby. She doesn’t know what to do with herself, with anything. She’s about to have a panic attack.

“Look at me.” Abby says, gently. “You’re hurting my child. Do you hear me? You’re hurting your best friend. Lexa’s asking me—begging me up, down and sideways—not to kick your ass into the next century for ghosting. I still might do it. But what happened to Clarke? Not. Your. Fault.”

“Yes, Abby. Understood.”

“I’ve known you were here for a week. Did you think none of us would know? It’s a _small beach town_ , Raven. I’ve watched you hide and curl yourself up in a ball and cry when you see Clarke down there doing the best she can without you.” Abby points down to the spot on the beach where Clarke will be in less than ten minutes.

Raven finally looks at her. The pain Abby sees in her eyes has her swallowing thickly and she has to fight every instinct not to take Raven into her arms.

Raven’s the one who protected and really cared for Clarke all these years. Abby knows that.

When Jake died. When Abby was finishing her residency and working 100-hour weeks. When Raven’s mother came through the emergency room one last fatal time from an overdose—Raven handled it. Abby didn’t worry. Raven was there. Four years older than Clarke and astonishingly mature for her years, still innocent and happy even after everything she’d been through. She was a rock solid presence.

“Will she get to the Olympics? Can she?”

Abby holds out her hand instead. “Give me the keys to your car. You’re going to walk home and think about this. _You walk home_. You don’t get to watch Clarke anymore until you talk to her. Am I clear?”

“Abby.”

“She asks about you all the time.” Abby snarls. “Go.”

* * *

Raven wanders instead of walks.

She doesn’t know how long but it feels like hours. There’s no peace anywhere. The downpour is sporadic, and the rain is warm against her skin. She pushes back her hood and lets it wash over her and wipe away her heat and sweat and heartache. She misses them all. She misses herself.

There’s a minor tremor in her knee. It happens when she’s upset. A weird phantom physiological reaction to extreme emotion.

She hears the car behind her roll to a stop and a door slam, hard.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Abby’s calculated, defensive self-control is nowhere to be found. “Clarke is here, I am here, and you won’t even speak to us. She’s your _best friend_. She asks about you.”

Raven starts crying in earnest. She can’t speak.

First Jake died—then Finn. Then her mother. Then, Clarke was down and unconscious for too long on that field. Something broke in her. Raven’s broken. She could lose anyone at anytime. Even the relief when she realized Clarke was alive and not in a permanent brain dead coma wasn’t enough to get the monstrous terror out of her body.

“Why won't you help me?” Abby’s pleading now, and quietly finishes with a barely audible, "Please."

Then, she does something so out of character it scares both of them. She stalks up to Raven and pushes her back against the side of one of the chain-link fences lining the street, across from the ball field.

“Jesus, Abby.” Raven gasps.

Abby can’t help herself. Her frustration and hurt are at an all time peak and she’s crying. She follows Raven’s body into the fence as Raven flinches away and Abby pushes her violently again. So hard she slams into and bounces off the links.

“You don’t get to walk away from us.”

“I’m sorry,” Raven says helplessly, letting Abby do what she wants. She deserves this. This is the person she loves most in the world and she’s been a coward.

“I can’t lose either of you. I can’t lose anyone else.” She whispers and sinks down to the wet earth and Abby freezes over her, mortified at herself.

“Raven.”

“I can’t, Abby. Finn. Jake. Mom. If—“

“Sweetheart.” Abby lowers herself down, murmuring to her, shaking her head. Immediately contrite, she takes Raven into her arms and rocks her gently. She holds Raven to her as tenderly as she can.

Clarke will be fine. Clarke will always be fine. And Abby wonders seriously how she couldn’t see what was right in front of her. The very real chance that Raven—neither of them— might ever recover from _their_ lifetime of hurt.

* * *

“So, that’s one way of dealing with things?”

Raven stares up at the fairy lights draped all across the wall above her bed, the only source of light. It’s one of her favorite things about this room. It’s just hers; it’s the first thing she set up when she followed them here, followed the women she loves more than her own life to a place that would heal them.

It’s late; a cool off-shore night breeze comes through the window, billowing her curtains and drying the sweat on their bodies. The lights mark the ceiling with shadows, making every angle of Abby’s face, every beautifully toned inch of Abby’s body more defined and contrasted than usual. She has a dancer’s body and it’s as perfect as her face.

Raven says Abby’s name to herself several times, loving how it sounds in secret—whispered to herself inside her head. She used to say it to herself all the time. It was her way of soothing hurt, of celebrating. It was her way of feeling loved.

And then she leans over and murmurs that talisman into Abby’s ear and Abby stirs against her, sleepy and sated and nuzzles deeper into Raven’s side.

Raven, delighted by the response and just in case Abby might have forgotten what it sounds like when Raven says her name quietly, just for her, does it again and kisses her.

Abby opens her eyes and lays on her side, balancing with her hand under her head—one of her tan, strong legs hooks around Raven's, her fingers smoothing over Raven’s bare stomach, in a pleasing, easy rhythm. Although every once in a while she’ll pause and Raven swears she can see her eyes gleam with amusement when she feels Raven almost come undone with the loss of contact.

"It’s not the obvious way, no.” Abby says. Her voice is warm with satisfaction and lower than usual, raw from crying.

Raven eyes close as she tries to focus and think and make this all right. She needs to see Clarke. Things between her and Abby might be okay. It’s a start.

God, things are more than okay when she leans into Abby, into her touch. Her surgeon’s hands are strong and sure, competent and expert as they roam over her absently, skim over her ribs, sliding low to trace her hip bones with her thumb.

Abby lays her palm flat, fingers spread, and uses it to pull Raven to her, until they come together, flush and comfortable. Drowsy with traces of sadness, deep satisfaction and a tentative reconciliation.

Raven loves the scent of her, Abby smells like days in the sun, today’s storm and sex and something else that’s just amazingly and intoxicatingly her—something that’s only Abby.

Something beautiful and dangerous and _home_.

* * *

The next day, Raven brings a book with her for after the run. She sits a little closer to where Clarke will be and she starts to read.

Clarke nearly stumbles when she sees her, and catches herself. She stares balefully at Raven for an extremely uncomfortable few minutes, until her trainer actually has to ask her if she needs to intervene or call the cops.

Raven hears Clarke snort. “Forget it. It’s nothing. No one important.”

* * *

She does it every day. She goes for her run, and sometimes Abby or Lexa join her. Sometimes both.

Clarke barely acknowledges her every time. She waves to her mother and Lexa.

Clarke doesn’t even flinch or say anything when they start eating bacon and egg sandwiches (her favorite) and drink orange juice as the sun comes up.

Raven reads from where she’s stopped from the last time, glancing up at Clarke every few seconds to see how she’s doing.

Sometimes Abby reads to them and Lexa and Raven sit, sharing a protein shake and watch Clarke slowly making her way through low tide, using weights and paddle boards.

No one comments on it when Raven switches Pride and Prejudice out for a fascinating biography on Goya. Or when that ends and they begin to read some hilarious critical theory from the eighties. But Abby almost chucks the Aeronautical Engineering book into one of the tidal pools.

It goes on like that for weeks. And Abby watches Raven relax and become herself again. She sees the way being there with all of them, reading, watching over Clarke—somehow—Raven’s sadness, guilt and strain lessen.

Raven starts to bring Clarke treats from the Dairy Queen at the edge of town, her favorite things, and a couple cheeseburgers for herself, and a sundae for Abby, two large fries for Lexa, and a strawberry malt for each of them.

She packs the shakes in a cooler. When she notices Clarke won’t approach them, she makes sure to leave before Clarke’s done so Lexa and Abby can share them with Clarke without her being around.

Raven climbs back in her car and drives around aimlessly for a while.

Sometimes Abby joins her and they let Lexa have some time with Clarke. They drive and Abby’s hand settles on her thigh and for a second Raven feels better. Not alone. Not like a screwed up kid from a screwed up family. She feels like she belongs to someone, to Abby. It gives her hope.

Maybe she has the courage to talk to Clarke again and she drives to the Cove, stops the car and drags Abby over the seat towards her like she hasn’t seen her in years and lets her hands wander under Abby’s shirt.

Abby trails her hands up, and kneads her neck, before finally threading her hands through Raven’s hair and tracing circles in her scalp, along the sensitive skin beneath her ears, making her shiver.

They kiss like they know what they’re doing and like they have all the time in the world. Abby only has to smile at her and Raven moans softly and nods. They can be playful and sweet. They can be anything they want.

Abby’s hand comes around to her back, running up and down her spine, encouraging her to move, to keep sliding against her, until Abby wasn't moving and it’s just her; just Raven bringing herself off on Abby’s strong, devastatingly precise fingers.

* * *

Raven settles down with her new book and the cooler. She towels herself off after diving in the water to cool off from her run. It’s mid-July and the water’s freezing. Still. She doesn’t know how the fuck Clarke has been able to handle being in there every morning. 

She puts on her sunglasses and it isn’t long before a shadow passes between her and her book making it impossible to see anything. She’s about to yell at Lexa when she hears a low, rough, and very familiar voice instead. 

“Come on, Reyes. Make yourself useful.” 

Raven slides a thumb between the pages to mark her place, closes the book and sits up. 

“PT dudes are off today. It’s just you and me. Get up.” Clarke says and heads towards the water. 

Raven almost panics, but then takes her glasses off and strips down to her shorts and bathing top and follows Clarke down to the edge of the water. She’s vaguely alarmed when Clarke just plows in and swims right past the edge of the surf.

The water is sort of calm and quiet today, so Raven won’t die that way. 

She dives in and swims up to Clarke with even, powerful strokes and then treads water a few feet away. It’s totally possible that Clarke is the way she’ll die.

“Come closer, you fucking idiot.”

Raven doesn’t even think. She swims closer. 

Clarke glares at her and then places her arms around Raven, “You can stand here. Put your feet on the bottom and hold me up.” 

Raven does what she’s told. Clarke’s skin is warm and smells like salt and clear blue skies. Clarke leans her chin against Raven’s shoulder and wraps her legs around her waist. Raven puts her hands around Clarke’s waist and they float quietly together for a long time under the sun, rocking gently with the tide, watching sun minnows.

“You taught me how to swim.” Clarke says sleepily, at some point.

“I remember.” Raven smiles against Clarke’s cheek.

“So.” Clarke clears her throat. “You’re banging my mom.” 

Raven trips on nothing and flails. Clarke takes advantage and pushes her under and holds her there. It’s a game they always played but something in Raven doesn’t want to come up for air. Clarke feels it immediately and angrily hauls her up, sputtering and coughing. 

“Fight me, Raven.” She spits, slapping at her. “Stop being a coward.”

“What the fuck— _ouch_ , what is wrong with you." Raven pushes back and tears herself away.

Clarke stands up as best she can with the whole ocean’s movement around them, “You don’t get to fuck my _Mom_ and not talk to me. I’m you’re friend. Me. And you don’t get to feel guilty about what happened. When did you become such an _asshole?_ You’re a fucking asshole and a useless friend.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“And I miss you.” Clarke’s voice is hoarse with emotion. She sounds so small and hurt that Raven doesn’t think anything of taking her into her arms again and holding her, desperate to calm her.

“Everything hurts,” Raven murmurs, “but we’re okay?” 

Clarke sighs into her chest.

“Remember when you used to climb into bed when you were scared of the thunderstorms? You used to sigh like that. It meant that you felt safe.” Raven says. 

“That was only a couple of times when you stayed over. You never stayed over. I always wanted you to. And I wasn’t scared. _You’re such a dick_. You’re so full of shit. You were.”

“You’re right. I was. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you for the Strawberry Malts.”

“Of course, Princess.”

 


	8. Doctor Mechanic Week: Roommates AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke fucks up the Airbnb thing.

“Clarke. Babe. Clarke, have you picked up your bags? Clarke, do you have your passport? Have you checked in yet, Clarke? We gotta get to the flight. Gate’s this way, girl. Let’s GO.”

“Yeah, Raven, I’m coming, Jesus.” Clarke says. Like, really. It’s 5 am. Shut up. She is going to murder whichever of Raven’s jackass undergrads arranged this call time. And when did International flights ever leave this early? She wonders who Raven pissed off in the department admin office.

“Come on. Daddy’s gonna buy you the most obscene, obnoxious, caffeinated, sugary thing they have at that Starbucks just past security.” They might not get through security because Clarke is a total space-shot when she wakes up. No one is allowed to talk to her until she’s had an hour of staring at nothing on the couch.

“Clarke, we have to go stand in line first, tho. Okay? Can you do that?”

Clarke has to dig through her bag for ten minutes to find her boarding pass, but they make the flight. Raven can’t wait until she finds out Clarke fucked up their Airbnb somehow, because that will definitely happen.

* * *

Clarke fucks up the Airbnb thing.

More accurately, she fucks up her mother’s Airbnb arrangement, so Abby Griffin has to come stay with them.

“Yeah, no honey. I’m not staying a half hour outside of Barcelona, even if it the cutest beach town you ever saw on Google.”

Raven is—she can’t think of anything to say. Abby Griffin, one of her oldest friends, one of the world’s top neurosurgeons, is standing right next to her in all her considerable glory. Big, expressive, intelligent amber brown eyes, silky honey-golden hair, wide full mouth, laugh lines, patrician bone structure for _days_ , great legs, beautiful hands, smooth, pale skin, graceful body… _oh my god._

Abby didn’t influence her decision to come with Clarke on this week vacation, which coincided rather graciously with the conference she’s attending, but it didn’t hurt to know Abby would be here. And now she might pass out because she always thinks she’ll pass out whenever she’s in Abby’s presence.

And then Lexa shows up. “Oh, hey guys.”

“Wow. What? We’re all staying here? It’s exactly 600 sq feet (overstatement). With one bathroom. With _two_ bedrooms instead of the THREE we needed and…” She squints around Lexa, “beds the size of my suitcase. ” Raven finishes with a flourish, hoping it comes off as nonchalant and chill and not murderous at all.  

“It’s Europe.” Clarke folds her arms across her chest and glares at her.

Lexa figures things out, immediately, because she’s fantastic that way, before Raven can say anything else and forget that it’s not good form to beat Clarke to death in front of her mother.

Lexa whips out her phone and gets to work on securing Abby a hotel room. Ten minutes later she looks adorably defeated. “I got nothing,” She says sadly. She’s genuinely sad.

“It’s the conference. There’s like twelve conferences going on at the same time here this week. And a million art and theater festivals and cultural... whatevers.” Raven trails off, waving her hand vaguely. 

Abby looks about as thunderous as Raven feels and they share a glance that startles Raven just because it happens and then Raven is blushing furiously and she wants to crawl under a rock.

“I’ll take the couch,” she says, stupidly.  

“Are you sure?” Abby asks, reaching out to put her hand on Raven’s arm, “There’s no reason we can’t—“

“Totally fine,” Raven says, cursing herself for being such an asshole. No one ever _volunteers_ to sleep on the couch.  “Um, yeah, it’s fine. I won’t even be around for a day, at least. One keynote and three panels and then I’m all yours.” She just said—that really didn’t come out well at all. “I mean I’m the group’s. All of yours. Together. We’ll do stuff.” 

Lexa looks at her funny.

“Settle down, ya'll.” Clarke says. “We have two sets of keys, there’s a rider in the contract stipulating that we can’t make extras but I can call—”

“No it’s fine. Raven and I can figure the keys out,” Abby says. “And Raven, don’t be a martyr. We can share a bed until we go to Playa de Sitges in three days for the second half of the trip, and we still have the other place reserved for that time. So we’re all good.”

Lexa blinks at Raven and really stares at her, “Right. You’re fine with this, Raven?”

“Yes.” Raven says, before rolling past everyone and into one of the bedrooms.  

Part of her is trying to figure out just how she’s going to manage being around Abby without embarrassing herself, and the rest of her is trying to be an adult—the one who’s keynoting an international conference—and it’s no big deal she’s sharing a bed with Abby Griffin. It doesn’t matter that nothing about her brain or basic motor skills are working.

“Drinks?” She asks, weakly.

“Clarke, why don’t you and your mom get settled? Raven and I will be at…” Lexa whips out her phone again and holds it up to Abby, “here. Meet us there in an hour. Bye. Laters.”

* * *

Lexa shoves the sangria and plate of tapas at Raven.

“Thank you.” Raven takes a sip, and then a longer one and then a bite of grilled octopus and anchoas.  “Dude.”

Lexa drops into the chair opposite hers and nods vigorously.  “I know. I know. I love Clarke so much but just, wow. No way. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah,” Raven sighs.  “I mean, you’re the only one who knows, you’re the only one I’ve told. And I’m sorry—”

“No. Don’t. Don’t even worry about it. Drunk confessions are the best confessions. They mean the most.” Lexa says, leaning over to take Raven’s hand and then a long pull of her own drink.

“I can do this. I’m a genius. Ugh. I can’t even handle myself around her. I’m about to present the biggest paper of my life so far and…” Raven trails off, disbelieving.

“Just then, back there, it was fine. Yes?” Lexa asks, taking another sip. Both of them are well on their way to being a little loopy already.

“No…” Raven slides down in her chair. “Not so great. Lex. We’re sharing a bed. Nothing’s fine. I feel _this way_ about Clarke’s mother.”

“Her name is Abby. And you guys have known each other for half your life. The _better_ half of your life—she’s family, Raven. You met Abby before you met Clarke. You’re the reason they even talk to each other again. Abby won’t hurt you. Ever.”

It’s crazy how intuitive Lexa is. And accurate. Lexa is basically perfect.

“Nothing can happen.” Raven chews despondently, swallows and then groans. She sinks further down in her chair.

“Nothing _has_ to happen, Raven. Just enjoy your, _our,_ time together.”

“In the same bed.”

“Hmm. Yes. Abby’s stubborn like that. She’s going to insist you don’t sleep on the couch and go all caveman if you fight her on it.”

“I don’t need a heart attack before tomorrow, you know? Tomorrow’s going to put me on the map. And now I’m jet-lagged and… Abby… and…” Raven says, sighing deeply.  

“Yes. Abby. I _know_.” Lexa entwines their fingers together and tugs gently, “Does she even suspect anything?”

“No.” And Raven feels stupid.

Lexa actually laughs at her—and makes it seem kind. She can be a ninja. ”Concentrate on tomorrow. What time are you free afterwards.”

All Raven can do is glare at her and feel miserable some more. “I’m not free all day and will probably need to make the party and dinner rounds all night. That’s at _least_ 18 hours.”

“Well, that’s good?”

Raven shakes her head vehemently.  ”No. Not good. It’s a career defining moment and all I want to do is share a bed with Abby Griffin and I don’t know, cuddle.”

Lexa laughs again, glancing at her phone and then rapidly texting. ”Clarke wants me to come back. Abby will be here—”

“Now.” Abby says from over Raven’s shoulder, startling her into spilling some of her drink.

Lexa smiles brightly at both of them and waves her phone around. “We’ll meet for dinner?”

“Ew. Gross. At least stay in your room.” Raven mutters.

Lexa shoots her an exasperated look and gathers her things. She kisses them both on the cheek and leaves.

Abby squeezes Raven’s shoulder and takes the seat Lexa vacated, “I think we’re going to be tag teaming it for a couple of days.” She raises an eloquent, perfect eyebrow and smiles. Raven almost spills the rest of her drink.

Abby seems concerned, “Is this really a problem, because I have like, eight assistants who can find me a—”

“Don’t,” Raven says, with a weak smile, finishing what’s left of her poor drink. This sangria is really strong or she’s just really disoriented and hazy with lust. ”I’m just terrified about tomorrow. It’ll be good to come home to you. Really.”

Everything that comes out of her mouth sounds awful. That was the literal WORST. Wonderful.

Abby smiles. A real one. The one she saves for the people closest to her. Raven feels a warm second sun rise in her chest.

“It’s—you’re going to be fantastic, Raven.”

“I hope so,” Raven blushes; because honestly, Abby’s the reason she’s here, and ready to take off into the stratosphere. “This is all your fault. You know that, right?”

Abby orders another round of sangrias and rattles off like, lots of things of tapas in Spanish and then looks at her seriously.

“Raven, all I did was give you some money to get started. The scholarships, the grants, all the awards? That’s on you.” She holds up her hand to stop Raven’s protests. “You’re special. I knew that then and I know that now. I would be an idiot not to do everything I can for you. You’re mother was—she was my best friend, okay? Let’s say I did it for her.”

* * *

Raven spends the next day kicking everything’s ass. 

Apparently sangria, barely sleeping, staying up almost all night and talking with her three favorite people, some more tapas, the city itself and knowing she’ll see Abby at the end of the best day and night ever makes her invulnerable.

Abby texts her all throughout the day just because she can, and she promised she would even if Raven had no time to text back and it takes all of Raven’s will power not to respond with _I love you. I just made history. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. Fucking marry me. I can’t live without you._

She gets five minutes to herself and texts. “Doing great! wbu. Smiley Face. Smiley Face. Smiley Face. Explosion.” 

She’s worked for this moment her entire life and she _cannot_ wait to leave it all and just get home.

_Home?_

* * *

Abby finds her on the bathroom floor, half out of her Hedi Slimane's Saint Laurent suit, her jacket draped over the shower curtain and one of her shoes gone. She’s happily spreading out all the numbers and contacts and notes she gathered over the course of the whole thing.

Raven looks up and there she is. Abby! She spreads her hands wide and smiles up at her, her hair a gorgeous, disheveled mess framing her face.

Abby hesitates for a few seconds and then sits down next to her. “It went well.”

“Yes.” Raven sighs, squeezing Abby’s hand and taking the glass of water and Advil Abby gives her.

They smile at each other until Raven’s face hurts and then she looks down and shuffles through all the debris. She drunkenly notices Abby frown slightly. 

“Are those phone numbers?”

“ _Yes_. Scientists are fucking out of their _minds_. Are doctors like that too? Because, _Jesus_.”

Abby massages the back of her neck and Raven falls forward onto her shoulder, groaning with pleasure. Abby marvels at her and laughs softly, “Okay. Let’s get you horizontal.”

“Where are we now?” Raven asks.

Abby hooks one arm under hers, and around her back, and hauls her up with surprising strength.

“Come on, beautiful girl.”

* * *

Abby undresses her and gets her into bed.

Raven, somewhere in her lizard brain, is aware that she’s acting like a huge, goofy puppy and doesn’t give a shit at all. She drapes herself all over Abby and just excitedly talks her ear off for an hour.

At some point she thinks Abby says something like, “You are basically the sweetest thing ever, did you know that?”

And she lets it go, because yeah, she is. She’s awesome. And she’s talking to Abby about her day and Abby’s listening and she’s warm and safe and happy. She doesn’t even _care_ that Abby’s hands are roaming all over her body, expertly calming her. Kneading all of the tension out of her shoulders, neck and legs. Smoothing over her shoulders and down her back. She doesn’t even _care_ that her body is steadily responding to every sweep of Abby’s warm hands on her skin.

All she sees is Abby’s eyes in the first light of dawn, welcoming and clear.

“This is better than today. Right now. With you. This is the best thing ever.” Raven mumbles, exhausted. “I mean even better than yesterday. I mean—whatever.” She pauses and fights off sleep.

“I want you to be with me, Abby. In this together, like we used to be. I’m not going without you.” And Raven dozes finally.

“Yes, love.” Abby bends down, strokes her thumb along Raven’s lower lip and kisses her softly. “I need you, too,” she murmurs when she thinks Raven is asleep.

* * *

When she wakes up much later, early afternoon, to the smell of fresh espresso and a bright, crisp autumn day, Abby, Lexa and Clarke pile into bed with her.

They feed her before she can be grumpy and she drinks the most amazing coffee and snuggles up against the wall letting them sprawl around her; she’s naked under the blanket—resplendent in just her tousled hair and she looks up at them all with shining eyes.

None of them have ever seen her look so beautiful.

* * *

It takes the rest of the day, a long walk down the beach and several small meals and lots of water for Raven to feel all there and come down to earth a little. Somewhere between breakfast in bed and a shower it dawns on her that she was _naked_ in bed, and has a horrified realization that she was that way _all night_ and Abby—

Raven’s phone has been blowing up for hours. Every time it rings she just glances at it, confused or pleased, but mostly at a loss because what even happened last night and she dutifully stores the increasing amount of contacts away.

Some of them are institutions and think tanks; some of them are donors, universities and research opportunities. Some of them are just… and Abby’s mood takes as weird a detour as Raven's did after her shower.

Lexa glances over at her, reads the situation correctly, nods decisively, and peels off with Clarke promising to meet them for dinner later. Much, much later.

“They have sex all the time, don’t they?” Raven watches them disappear and then pockets her phone and then pauses before she focuses again and acknowledges Abby’s odd shift, “What’s up?”

Abby shakes her head and adjusts her sunglasses.

Raven sighs, and looks up at sky, at nothing, at clouds, at the birds, and she takes a deep breath and then tilts her head back to Abby. “Take those off, please.” 

Abby pushes her sunglasses back up into her hair.

Raven turns beet red and says, “You do know I think you’re so hot that I walk into walls whenever I see you, right?”  

Abby doesn’t answer; she just blinks.

Raven takes another deep breath and steps forward and plows on, “I know I’m going to scare the  _shit_  out of you and I have no plan for this and I didn’t ever _want_ to do this to you but here I am doing it, okay?”

Abby still doesn’t move.

“Abby, I heard you last night. When you thought I was asleep.” Raven murmurs, so nervous she thinks she might faint. “Did you mean it?”

Abby finally says something, “You heard me?”

And Raven almost wants to shout at her that she’s not that much of a drunken mess thank you, because, honestly.  

 _Are you even serious right now?_ Raven thinks, and then clears her throat.  “Uh, yes. Is that okay?”

Abby recovers really fast and just nods, “Yes. It’s more than okay."

Raven doesn’t know what to do now because she was ready for a fight and Abby just up and says—she _agrees_ —and at this point Raven just _can’t_ —and accepts she has no fucking idea what she’s doing and has zero restraint or any idea about _what to do_ right now. Or ever, really—

Abby’s still looking at her, and Raven is frozen and panicked.

Abby finally runs a hand across her face with a sigh and says, “I’m going to kiss you. Don’t hit me. And don’t apologize because I can see you’re about to. So don’t do anything stupid like that.” 

“Okay.” Raven says, thunderstruck.

Abby kisses her and Raven’s eyes slip shut. They kiss for a long time. And then Abby steps away and runs the gentle pad of her thumb along the corner of Raven’s mouth.

“Hello.” Abby says, very quietly.

“Hi, Abby.”


	9. Doctor Mechanic Week: Fake Dating AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raven and Abby break up just in time for Clarke and Lexa's surprise wedding. 
> 
> Raven's officiating. They both have to be there and there's no way in hell they're going to ruin the celebration with their shit so they pretend things are chill. 
> 
> So now everything's awesome and super awkward.

Abby gets off the phone as fast as possible.

 _Goddamnit_.

She knew this moment was coming. Of course she knew. Abby knew the moment Clarke had called an hour ago—excited and open and beside herself in love—she knew what the call meant, and honestly, she was ecstatic. Abby _loved_ Lexa. Lexa was marrying her _kid._  

And of course, of course, she’d be there. Clarke and Lexa, on Facetime, gave her the details in a cascading rush of delirium.

They would all be in the same small boutique B&B, right on the ocean. The wedding would be on the beach at dusk with _Raven_ officiating. All the arrangements had been made. They wanted it quiet, intimate and just family and _yesterday_. They wanted Abby and Raven there.

She gets irrationally angry at Raven. She knew. She _knew_  for at least a few weeks—she must have—and didn’t tell her.

Everything is so fucked up and raw. Last month, before Raven went on her extended training in Iceland, she’d told Raven that she needed a break, time to think, time to put all her broken parts back together alone.

Raven put all _those_  pieces together in just under a second, read between the lines, and called her a coward. Raven knew Abby meant  _I can’t handle this right now. I’m too fucked up over Jake, still. Maybe someday_.

 _Maybe someday_ meant _Never,_ to Raven _. Because that’s all she’d known. Everyone always left_ _. She was no one's._

So they’re at a very loaded Radio Silence now. Raven refuses to talk to her, and when Abby starts wondering about her decision, and how she could have handled herself more gracefully or actually lets herself touch how much she feels for Raven—she knows she needs to make good on her promise and get herself together.

Abby owes Raven that much. She hadn’t thought it through, at all. And she’d counted on Raven to understand what she couldn't say.

Raven did understand. And she was wrecked.

* * *

Marcus comes over an hour later and takes one look at her and pours them both a drink.

It’s not even noon, Marcus.”

“It’s not often your daughter gets married. We’re toasting. _Mazol Tov_.”

“At least get out my best scotch.” She hands back the sparkling rosé with a pointed glare.

“Yep.” Marcus wraps an arm around her waist and says, "Has she called yet? You can’t show up alone. And she’s definitely invited. Do you even know if she can take time off at such short notice—?" 

“She’ll be there. She’s officiating.” 

“Oh. _Fuck_.”

She knows he's right, that it’s a potentially defcon-1 situation, but she’s not going to make this about her crisis. No one needs that shit.

She looks at the phone she’s been grasping like a lifeline all morning and it doesn’t ring. The worst part is that Raven won’t call. Would _never call._  No matter how good natured and levelheaded she is. She’s too hurt and too proud and Abby gave her no reason to hope no matter what line of bullshit she came up with to make it seem like time off was the only way.

Because god knows it wasn’t their sex life, or their need, or their desire for each other that did this. Abby freaked the fuck out, and that was about the extent of it. She could live her life in bed with that woman.

"I can’t let it ruin the week. I can’t let anyone know what’s happened.” She whispers into his shoulder, and he hugs her.

"I know, Abby. Neither of you can get out of this," he says, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Just—I’ll be there, okay? We’ll all be there. And it will be fine.”

* * *

She steps off the ferry and still no messages. There are a thousand messages, but not one of them really matters. Everyone’s there to meet her—everyone except the one person she needs.

The absolute best thing about Lexa is that she can take one look at Abby—even with a pair of sunglasses obscuring her eyes and everything they reveal; surrounded by the small, wonderful group she calls family—and Lexa just knows that something is completely off. And bless her heart, she tries to make her feel better. And god love her, she says exactly the wrong thing.

“Abby,” Lexa says, “Her plane was delayed. She’s okay.” She tilts her head, “Did you leave your phone off again?”

* * *

The most painful thing of all is that in the space of just a month and the last 48 hours she knows she was absolutely wrong. She thought she would only ever love Jake. She was _really_ crazy wrong about that and wants to kick the shit out of herself.

But Raven Reyes let her guard down immediately. With no reservations. She’s charming, infuriating, arrogant, and intelligent with a dry sense of humor and a fantastic laugh. She’s fearless. She terrifies Abby. It took Raven all of nine days, most of them making love, to start hinting at how she really felt. She didn’t have to say anything. It was her eyes.

And Abby has the uncanny ability to compartmentalize like a motherfucker. It gave Raven whiplash and threw her off-balance. She was never off-balance. But Abby kept things professional and that last conversation, that one and only real blowout—the first and last one—Raven had just looked at her, shocked and vulnerable and so, so hurt.

_“You’re scared.”_

_“I’m—I can’t do this. Jake—"_

_“Oh no. No. You don’t get to do that. You think I don’t know what you feel? Finn’s death destroyed me.”_

_Abby couldn’t look at her._

_“Abby,” Raven hugs her, still open, still hopeful, “I’m not going without you. We can do this together.”_

Abby realizes she can learn whole worlds from Raven. Raven, no matter what she says, has never let herself be destroyed.

* * *

Her anguish is just barely surfacing somehow, and that’s all on Marcus and Lincoln, because they drop her bags off (and Abby’s heart sinks when she sees the really small, quaint not-really double bed) and is given one key out of two.

“Ms. Reyes hasn’t checked in yet. I’ll keep her key here for her.” the woman at the desk says.

Marcus corrals Lincoln, and they take her out immediately and get her three pretty strong drinks all in a row, all at once. The rest of the crew will be joining in a few.

"You need this vacation. This wedding’s going to be a blast," Marcus says, but to Lincoln, not to her. They’re kind of making eyes at each other right in front of her.

"I'm right here.” she watches Marcus face flush and she pushes her sunglasses up. "And, you told Lincoln."

"Abby. It’s all love.” Lincoln says. “That girl’s going to take one look at you— _“_

Abby raises a hand to stop him and he takes a really long sip of his fruity cocktail drink and smiles mischievously. Oh man, he’s gorgeous. “Please—we got this. But I gotta ask. What the fuck were you thinking? Have you _seen_ that girl?”

“Yes, sweetheart.” She says, dryly. “Once or twice.”

"I’m not saying a word, to anyone. Not even Octavia. Because she would wipe the floor with you for being so dumb, promise." Lincoln says. “But you let me and Marcus go on this mission with you, Captain. Because it’s gonna be Operation Awesome all up in here.”

It almost makes her smile, a little bit, before she wallops Marcus really hard in the arm.

* * *

They all come out on the deck soon after. Everyone’s here except _her_.

Raven is a pain in the ass. She’s a pain in the ass because she makes Abby want things. And she makes her wait. It’s not funny. Not outside of the bedroom, anyway.

Abby’s heart is in her throat for a good few hours, celebrating with Clarke and the others and watching the patio doors, and it makes her jumpy. Really, her entire world comes down to trying not to pass out from nerves and playacting genuinely feeling happy since she insisted Raven leave. It’s a weird feeling.

Lincoln and Bellamy grab her hands and lead her down to the beach. She can hear Clarke and Lexa behind them. She can hear Marcus and Octavia. She’s safe. She’s with family. It’s beautiful here.

Clarke’s the first one in and it’s clearly a clothing optional night so they all strip down and charge in after her laughing and shouting. The water is perfect. It’s late September. It’s warm with a little chill in the air and the sun is setting. She swims out a little past the break and floats just to the sandbar and the water becomes calm. She floats on her back, one of her favorite things to do.

* * *

She’s so relaxed she doesn’t even pick her head up when she feels a strong, lean body slide easily against hers or when smooth, warm hands settle on her lower back and around her shoulders to steady them both in the current. She assumes it's Octavia, who loves the water as much as she does. They’ve played this game before, taking turns watching over the other while they floated, vulnerable. They did it all the time at the lake house when Octavia and Bellamy and all of them were growing up. Jake taught Octavia how to swim.

She tilts her head against Octavia’s warm neck and keeps her eyes closed, not opening them again when soft lips touch her skin, smooth over her jaw and—

"What the  _fuck_ ," she hisses at Raven.

"Okay, here we go, Abby. Don’t move. This is what we’re going to do.”

Raven’s voice is low and dangerous. Abby still can’t see Raven’s face because that strong, relaxing embrace has become a vice-like grip holding her in place and keeping her from obviously struggling and alerting anyone else that there are any issues other than two lovers reuniting.

“You’re going to act like you’re happy I’m here. We’re going to kiss like we used to, and we’re not going to say one goddamn word and ruin this wedding.”

Abby goes very still and stares blankly at the darkening sky, at the last rays of the sun; she’s looking anywhere but at Raven. She knows she’s right. It’s the same plan she came up with but somehow Raven gets to say it first and make the rules.

Some really childish, fragile animal inside her bristles at the loss of control. The only reason she doesn't immediately argue for any reason is because she  _knows_  Raven is thinking about Clarke and Lexa. Raven is most certainly not thinking about Abby or herself.

The kiss is tender, with some heat. Raven explores her lips gently, reverently; and Abby forgets she’s coming apart in pain and almost comes apart in pleasure. She loses herself before long in the glide of Raven’s lips and tongue and her unquestioned, welcome claiming.

She turns in Raven’s arms and wraps herself around strong shoulders and deepens the kiss until Raven pulls back as subtly as she can, looking out of the corner of her eye towards the shore where everyone’s watching or fooling around or resting.

“Smile and wave, Abby.”

Lincoln and Marcus wave back like a pair of fucking embarrassing Muppets. Abby’s heart aches. At least Raven doesn’t wipe her mouth.

* * *

This is no longer a relaxing evening.

Raven looks fantastic, every glorious inch of her. She looks happy; sun kissed, fulfilled, excited and in even better shape than Abby remembers seeing her. NASA training does wonders, clearly. She gets up every once in a while and adjusts the wood on the bonfire and Abby can’t look away.

Raven stretches gracefully, like a big, satisfied predator, and sits back down to talk with Clarke. Lexa and Octavia.

"Stop staring, bro. Where’s your game." Lincoln sidles up to her.

“I don’t have any game.” Abby snorts, quietly.

“No. No no no no no.” Lincoln shakes his head, “This will not do at all. Have you _seen_ yourself?”

“Lincoln, honey. I called it off. It’s my fault. I’ll be lucky if I walk away from this alive.”

Lincoln gives her a hilarious look and then his eyes soften. “Just say you’re sorry. You didn’t mean it.”

Abby looks down at her beer. She hasn’t had a can of beer in who knows how long. It’s nice, and it reminds her of Jake in a way that doesn’t gut her.

“This is not a romance novel. And this is not a Rom-Com. You can actually _communicate_ with people! It’s _crazy_ like that. Man up. Grow a pair. Etc.”

"Why? How will that make it right?"

Lincoln ignores her question because it’s stupid, and instead points towards the back of the room at Raven. "Because you love that girl. You’re crazy about her."

"Don't," she says.

"Well, whatever. You hurt her. Like, really crushed her. She’s going to fight and scream and make you beg. But that could be fun?" He nods, thinking it through. “That’s hot. You could do that. Beg, I mean. Or do you make her—?”

“Lincoln.”

 _Shit,_  Abby thinks, _he’s right_. She remembers several nights… and ugh now she can’t breathe.

* * *

Many drinks later, she's forgotten about that thing where she wants to avoid Raven and she drags Marcus and Lincoln over to sit next to Clarke and Lexa and the rest. Abby almost jumps out of her skin when Raven stops her from walking past her chair and wraps her arms around her, tugging her down on to her lap.

Lincoln looks pointedly at Octavia and she pats her legs and motions him over. He happily sits on her lap too and nuzzles into her.

Marcus tosses Raven a blanket and she arranges it so it covers both her and Abby almost completely. She lays her hand along Abby’s neck, her thumb against her chin, and turns her head to one side to skate her lips just barely along her jawline.

Abby tries to suppress a shiver at her touch, at the heat pouring off her, and fails. Raven's eyes catch hers and hold her, barely breathing, for several long moments before looking away and placing her hands along Abby’s sides, circling the hollowed out angle of her hipbones with calloused, strong fingers; fingers that build things.

Raven’s hands make things work.

* * *

Abby comes awake slowly and she responds, dismantles almost immediately, to a soft, amused voice in her ear. “Don’t move.” And then Raven is pinning her down against the mattress with just the weight of her body. They’re suspended there together.

“Did you carry me here?”

Raven studies her in the moonlight. It has to be almost morning. It’s that time of night where nothing stirs, and everything is quiet. Maybe someone forgot to turn off their porch light because there’s the moonlight and then there's another glow just outside the window. It throws Raven’s face into startlingly foreign blends and contrasts, an almost unrecognizable landscape except for her eyes. Her eyes are heartbreaking. 

Abby can hear the hiss of the surf from far away and a wind chime in someone’s backyard.

Raven nods and smiles a secret, sad smile, “I did. Lincoln helped. You’re a lightweight.”

Abby makes a half-hearted roll of her eyes, and hazards a kiss, barely there against the corner of Raven’s mouth. It thrills her and makes her gasp when she feels Raven tremble. 

She goes for quiet humor, so she doesn’t scare her away and kisses the tip of her nose with a murmured, "I am." And she feels her legs spread so that Raven sinks down further into her and in a growing dream she finally realizes they’re both naked. Abby’s eyes focus on her slowly.

“Raven, I’m—I need you.”

Raven’s gaze hardens more than it should, her body losing the relaxed feel and stiffening slightly and then she slides her hand down Abby’s stomach, between her legs and Abby realizes what she must sound like. She places her hand over Raven’s to stop her and now Raven’s expression is tight, too strained.

“No, honey. Listen to me.” Abby says, voice trembling. “I _need_ you. I was wrong. Everything hurts but," she takes a deep breath, "I don’t hurt with you.”

She sees it happen. Raven’s eyes slip shut. Her mind _relaxes_ and she entwines Abby’s fingers with hers, brings their hands between her legs so they’re both stoking through her wet heat. Raven lowers her head and tucks it between Abby’s shoulder and her chin. Her tongue traces up Abby’s neck to her ear.

“Say it again.”

“I don’t hurt with you.” Abby whispers.

Raven takes Abby’s earlobe between her teeth and bites down just hard enough for pain. A reminder. Then she presses a long kiss to the corner of Abby's mouth. A hello.

“I love you, Abby.” Raven says, very clearly.

Abby—for what feels like too many times in her life, in this one night alone—stills like an animal in a trap. And then, just as instinctively, she lets the slow strokes and the rhythm Raven is setting, that they’re setting together, embody her and ground her in Raven’s strength and innate joy.

“I love you, Abby.” Raven kisses along the line of her shoulders and runs her tongue between her lips, asking her to open for her and allow her in. “You don’t ever have to say it. But I know.”

* * *

Raven is asleep. She’s the heaviest sleeper Abby’s ever seen. Abby pulls her closer and strokes through her hair, runs her hand over her heart, between her breasts, down her stomach. She maps every inch of her, and she moves slowly, and she doesn’t pretend to herself anymore, and God, is she willing to not fake her way through her own life anymore.

After a long moment, after years of being hurt and scared, she says something she means. 

There's no role to play here. She’s not a widow. She’s not a mother. She’s not a surgeon. She’s not a highly intelligent, manipulative protector of all that she loves who makes good and bad decisions everyday. She’s not Abby.

She’s just a lover watching her beloved in the light of dawn. She’s no one. 

“I love you.”

Raven’s hand tightens involuntarily around hers, and Abby knows, without a doubt, that Raven’s awake and that she heard her. Raven doesn't open her eyes but she smiles. "Again."

"I love you."

Raven bites down gently on Abby's shoulder and smiles, "You should. I'm awesome."

 


	10. Doctor Mechanic Week: Bookstore AU (Omegaverse)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an Omegaverse A/B/O dynamics Bookstore AU, because why the hell not.

“She needs me to do what now?” Raven mumbled from around a piece of wire she held in her mouth while she soldered a particularly sensitive connection on a reconstructed motherboard.

She glanced quickly at her phone’s screen where Clarke’s lovely eyes rolled in exasperation and affection.

Clarke shrugged, “Lexa and I are away for a week and Mom wants repairs done on the whole wiring system at the bookstore.” 

“Abby is watching the store? How did she get any time…“ 

“Lexa managed to somehow get everyone to agree on a rotating schedule. Mom’s on call for a couple of days and she can be there and Lexa is magic so…”

“Wow. Your girl has mad delegating skills. Abby agreed?”

“Mom’s been known to agree to things once in awhile. Lexa also has mad baking skills.”

“Oh my god. I know. So what do I get?”

“Oatmeal cookies forever, babe.”

Raven laughed, “I do love your girlfriend, Princess. Okay, tell Abby I’ll be right over.”

* * *

Raven always conveniently forgot how gorgeous Abby was. It was a self-preservation thing. 

She shuddered involuntarily when Abby looked up from going through a large stack of medical case files, smiling at her, welcoming her with a subtle mixture of amusement and pleasure.

Abby’s scent was clean, strong and sharp. Stronger than anyone she knew. Abby Griffin was the most powerful Alpha on this continent. 

Lexa and Clarke came close in dominance and fuck knows how they made anything work between them. She and Octavia's plan was to get them super drunk and coax out the details of their dynamics, because the imagined visuals were seriously already hilarious enough.

She’d seen Abby’s unintended effect on too many people to be comfortable with her own reaction to it. It was an annoyance, unwanted, and it was especially galling since she knew that Abby made very, very sure that her call was muted and under control at any given moment—for everyone’s sake.

She could wield it with devastating effect at opportune moments when she wanted to, but after one unfortunate incident when she was younger (she sent an entire auditorium of people and everybody watching at home into a spontaneous mating frenzy) she made sure she kept it pretty low-key. 

And Raven was a very rare, very headstrong Omega, neither dominant nor submissive—highly selective in her own mating choices. It was a point of honor.

Raven paused, unsettled and irritable. She said hello with a more clipped tone than she usually used with Abby—a more impatient tone than anyone _dared_ use with Abby. “You needed work done?” 

Abby frowned slightly, as confused by Raven’s irritation as Raven obviously was. Raven looked a little stricken and shut up abruptly.

Abby tilted her head and regarded her, her eyes narrowing. Raven wasn’t broadcasting anything. That was an odd thing altogether. Everyone always telegraphed something—it wasn't situational, it was instinctual. Raven had an iron-clad handle on herself.

“Clarke told you? Great. The place needs upgrading—electrical, shelving. Whatever you can do in a week. I want it done before they get back.”

"Raven?" Abby repeated when Raven stared at her blankly.

Abby had leaned back, draping a long arm across the back of the chair and was regarding her, a little concerned. “You alright there?”

“Perfect.” Raven said, stiffly. And strode past Abby without looking at her. What the hell. 

Struck by a strong wave of absolutely _nothing_ , Abby subtly probed Raven and the other customers and found Raven the only one inexplicably and powerfully shielded. Raven wasn’t like any other person she’d ever encountered. It was more than fascinating to her. Because, Science reasons. 

Abby rumbled low in her chest, quietly, and let out a short, particularly strong pheromone signature. A woman over in the Self Help section stumbled and fell over with a shriek. Everyone else looked dazed and fucked up immediately.

Abby swung around and checked out Raven’s reaction. Nothing. She was calmly laying out tools and changing the batteries on her mag-light.

* * *

Raven was anything but fine. She hadn’t been fine since the first time she met Abby Griffin.

The effect was immediate and insane. Abby had introduced herself and Raven went into a debilitating heat so quickly she almost passed out.

That kind of powerful hormonal shift happened in early adolescence—Raven had been in her early twenties, far too old to behave like a crazed, heat-frenzied teenager. 

Abby had held her hand a few moments longer than was strictly polite between strangers. It was innocent, not a show of dominance, and Raven had literally, embarrassingly swooned.

And Abby had an unguarded goofy, surprised, secretive little smile on her face—a mixture of amusement, curiosity, and hunger—before she caught herself and took her hand back.

And fuck her life, because it was happening again, right now. She caught herself whining deep her throat—a thin sheen of sex pheromones coating her skin.

Raven was pissed and trembling. Her vision was clouding and her breath coming in shallow gasps. The ache between her legs made her eyes roll back in her head.

Abby was more intelligent than she was in interesting ways. They sparred and bitched at each other constantly. They were brutally honest together. How that happened was anybody’s guess, but it fit their personalities. They provoked each other.

Abby was smart, gorgeous, did not suffer fools and could be unexpectedly sweet.

She could have anybody she wanted and her mate had died, something unthinkable, so there was an air of deep sadness and a powerful, stubborn and persevering strength to her that appealed to Raven in a primal way.

No one else and nothing else did. This was not fucking fair. And inconvenient. And unwanted. 

Absolutely fucking not. Raven was an army of one.

Abby stood in front of her before she even saw her move.

“Taste me,” Abby said simply, holding her wrist out. "It'll help with your heat. All you need is a taste."

Raven looked at her, panicked.

“That's the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

Abby stepped closer, and Raven let out a soft growl. Abby almost laughed, the nerve of this woman. She was actually challenging her. Not even Jake had ever done that.

“I know what you are. And your heat is rising. I can help.”

“Abby. Go away.” 

Abby didn’t move. She just leaned in and ran her tongue from the hollow of Raven's throat, to the edge of her jaw and then held herself there. Raven moaned embarrassingly loudly.

“How long has it been, Raven.”

“Two days ago.” Raven bit out.

Abby laughed softly and didn’t move except to murmur, “Nope. Try again.”

Raven threaded her fingers through Abby’s hair and with surprising gentleness pulled her head away. She stared at her; her eyes angry and blazing with her own power—a secret, rare grasp of the absurdities of their kind’s physical and emotional needs—the ridiculous hierarchies and posturing. But she couldn’t fight a mating call. And she’d been denying this for years. She had her pride. She wouldn’t ever yield or submit. 

Abby’s blood surged when she saw it. She loved this about Raven. She loved that Raven could look her in the eye without it being a defiance. It was a rare gift, and at the very heart of her, Abby knew what was hers, who was hers. Raven was hers. _Mine._  

There was no one else who could look at her like this, no one had ever dared.

In response she placed her warm lips against Raven’s ear. “You haven’t fucked anyone in months. Let me. It's a biological imperative. I can help you.”

A mist of sex and pheromones overwhelmed Raven and she almost fell. Abby’s arm around her waist stopped her; a hand came up and cupped her chin. Abby’s call was still at its lowest ebb. It was powerful even like that, unrelenting. 

Abby edged her thigh between Raven’s legs and Raven stiffened, her head falling back into the wall behind her, swearing softly.

“Raven,” Abby murmured. “I need your gorgeous mind clear when this happens. I’m not going to take you against your will. I’m not going to force a heat on you.” 

Raven gasped and tried to catch her breath as Abby subtly rocked into her, “So this is what’s going to happen,” Abby continued, her voice soothing Raven’s rising, frantic and overpowering need, “I’ve waited long enough. I can wait some more.” 

Raven pulled away, desperate to get herself under control. Abby let her go. She smoothed Raven’s hair behind her ear, damp with sweat and said carefully, “Baby, are you hurting?”

The concern was real. The endearment made her heart stop. The concern and honesty she heard almost made Raven cry.

She closed her eyes, fighting tears, and shook her head. Moments passed and when she opened them again, Abby was gone.

* * *

After a few hours in the vast labyrinth of almost a half of century old wiring she made her way out to the front of the space. The lights were lowered and Abby sat gathering her papers together and arranging them in her bag. 

Raven dropped her own bag and Abby watched her approach, her expression solemn and softer than Raven had ever seen it. 

“Do you need a ride home…?” Abby’s voice trailed off as Raven slowly knelt and with a confidence that made Abby’s head swim—Raven looked up at her and Abby saw desire and shyness in Raven’s gaze. It was intoxicating. 

“You never look away,” Abby stroked her check with slightly trembling fingers. “You’re the only one who never looks away.”

“Give me time, Abby. I need time.” Raven said, softly. “I’m scared.” 

“I am, too.” Abby sighs and shifts forward to whisper in Raven’s ear. "You can’t even imagine what I need you to do to me.” 


	11. Omegaverse Bookstore AU: Black Dog Rising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raven and Abby. Clarke and Lexa. Some people fall in love in a spectacular way. Some people need everything.
> 
> The Omegaverse Bookstore AU expansion you crazy kids asked for. Because why the hell not.

“She needs me to do what now?” Raven mumbles from around a piece of wire she holds in her mouth while she solders a particularly sensitive connection on a reconstructed motherboard.

She glances quickly at her phone’s screen where Clarke’s lovely eyes stare at her, half-asleep and full of affection.

“Lexa and I are away for a week and Mom wants repairs done on the whole wiring system at the bookstore.” 

“Abby is watching the store? How did she get any time…“ 

“Lexa managed to somehow get everyone to agree on a rotating schedule. Mom’s on call for a couple of days and she can be there and Lexa is magic so…”

“Wow. Your girl has mad delegating skills. Abby agreed?” Raven smiles.

“Mom’s been known to agree to things once in awhile. Lexa also has mad baking skills.”

“Oh my god. I know. So what do I get?”

“Oatmeal cookies forever, babe.”

Raven laughed, “I do love your girlfriend, Princess. Okay, tell Abby I’ll be right over.”

* * *

Raven always conveniently forgets how gorgeous Abby Griffin is. It’s a self-preservation thing. 

She shivers despite herself when Abby looks up from going through a large stack of medical case files, smiling at her, welcoming her with a subtle mixture of unease and pleasure.Abby’s scent is clean, strong and sharp. Stronger than anyone Raven knows.

Waves of lifeblood pour from her every cell and Raven, able to absorb most primal energies of this caliber, actually sways and lowers her eyes. She’s careful not to challenge and fixates on a point just over Abby’s shoulder.

Abby studies her, tilting her head unconsciously—Raven wasn’t like this usually—she's strong, impartial to Alphas, with no use for dominance or any other kind of bullshit. Raven can be real fucking weird about any slight to her autonomy but is always surprisingly polite to overeager, untrained Alphas. It’s sort of hilarious to see the confusion from people who don’t know her. She presents as Omega and is as unnerving and rare as their kind can be, almost otherworldly. 

Abby’s only seen it once before, in Lexa. Nothing in either of them stops watching, assessing, misses anyone’s presence or their weaknesses. Anyone with an ounce of sense knows that there’s nothing more fluid or seductive about Lexa and Raven than their desires and how they manifest. 

Lexa and Clarke came close to each other in dominance and fuck knows how they made anything work between them. Raven and Octavia's plan was to get them super drunk and coax out the details of  _those_  dynamics, because the imagined visuals were seriously already beyond excruciating enough.

Raven is easygoing, filled with an exuberant delight in her own accomplishments and decidedly not submissive. So just Abby watches in barely contained fascination as Raven settles before her and waits.

Raven sees Abby’s unintended effect on too many people to be comfortable with her own reaction to it. It’s an annoyance, unwanted, and it is especially galling since she knows that Abby made very, very sure that her call is muted and under control—for everyone’s sake.

Abby  _can_  wield it with devastating effect at opportune moments when she wants to, but after one unfortunate incident when she was younger (she sent an entire auditorium of people and everybody watching at home into a spontaneous mating frenzy) she made very sure she kept it pretty low-key. No use sending the entire western hemisphere into heat.

And Raven is a very rare, very headstrong Omega, neither dominant nor submissive—highly selective in her partners—rumored quick fucks to ease a heat or more casually long-term Beta attachments, whatever or whoever they are—they’re friendly, easygoing transactions.

It’s a point of honor. Nothing about the proscribed role of Omegas—all outdated, appallingly normative attributes based solely in archaic biological essentialism—appeal to Raven in the slightest.

Her instincts are certainly not to breed. She tolerates her heats and makes very sure to protect herself from any unwanted advances—Alphas tend to be obnoxiously prone to Shakespearean levels of dramatics. She wanted to kick Bellamy’s ass into next week when he became possessive after swearing up and down he wasn’t that kind of dude. Finn was just sweet and loved her and they’d known each other since they were kids—they were family. Wick and Raven would laugh about everything and handle their appetites in the most relaxed manner possible, which is to say, they never talk about anything. Wick tries.

Raven is a rarity within the normal structures of their species’ particular evolution—she is a once in two or three generations anomaly, outside rules by choice, freed from her own body and hormonal privation.

Preternatural enough, and young enough to make that particular decision for herself when she’d seen what suppressants and a breeding addiction had done to her mother, Raven is a once in 52 year phenomenon and an army of one—an exceptional individual by force of circumstance, and her own nature—and for her own survival.

She saw her mother succumb to an epidemic of sexual reproduction, hormonal imbalance sicknesses and cravings and refuses it for herself.

This was her  _being_ , a philosophy of the sublime, of the stars—equations and math and physics and mechanics—nothing of the earthly, or the pack—nothing of the clear, obliterating call of home and completion in another.

Raven says hello with a more clipped tone than she usually uses with Abby—a more impatient tone than anyone  _dares_ use with Abby. “You needed work done?” 

Abby frowns slightly, as confused by Raven’s irritation as Raven obviously is. Raven looks a little stricken and shuts up abruptly. Abby tilts her head, her eyes narrowing. Raven isn’t broadcasting anything. That was an odd thing altogether. Everyone always telegraphed something—it wasn't situational, it was instinctual. Raven has an iron-clad handle on herself.

“Clarke told you? Great. The place needs upgrading—electrical, shelving. Whatever you can do in—I want it done before the week is out.”

"Raven?" Abby repeats when Raven stares at her blankly.

Abby had leaned back, draping a long arm across the back of the chair and was regarding her, a little concerned. “You alright there?”

“Perfect,” Raven say, stiffly. And strides past Abby without looking at her. What the hell. 

Struck by a strong wave of absolutely  _nothing_ , Abby subtly probes Raven and the other customers and finds Raven to be the only one inexplicably and powerfully shielded. It’s more than fascinating to her. Because, Science reasons. 

Abby rumbles low in her chest, quietly, and lets out a short, particularly strong pheromone signature. A woman over in the Self-Help section stumbles and falls over with a shriek. Everyone else looks dazed and fucked up immediately.

Abby swings around and checks out Raven’s reaction. Nothing. She’s calmly laying out tools and changing the batteries on her mag-light.

* * *

Raven is anything  _but_  fine. She hasn’t been fine since the first time she met this woman.

The effect was immediate and insane. Abby introduced herself and Raven went into a debilitating heat so quickly she almost passed out.

That kind of powerful hormonal shift happened in early adolescence—Raven was in her early Twenties—far too old to behave like a crazed, heat-frenzied teenager. 

Abby held her hand a few moments longer than was strictly polite between strangers. It was innocent, not a show of primacy, she had looked dazed, off-balance, and Raven had literally, embarrassingly swooned.

And Abby had an adorably perplexed, unguarded, goofy, surprised little smile on her face—a mixture of amusement, curiosity, and hunger—before she caught herself and took her hand back.

* * *

And fuck her life, because it was happening again, right now. Raven catches herself whining deep her throat—a thin sheen of sex pheromones coating her skin.

Raven is pissed and trembling. Her vision clouds and her breath comes in shallow gasps. The empty ache in her chest and between her legs make her eyes glitter with impotent, unshed tears.

Abby is vastly intelligent about these things—her maturity and fierceness, especially with Clarke and family—appeals to Raven in ways that are so blatantly obvious to her therapist that she's fucking annoying and has to stop a session and collapse in hysterical laughter—Raven imagines an entire world through the gestures of this one woman, and it makes her angry. Disoriented.

The way Abby moves lazily—eternally rich with her own nature—her quiet, fierce certainty—the veneer of civility barely containing immense power has Raven desiring a whole history and cartography she never knew existed.

Abby speaks easily of her work and her family, the details of her every day in the Trauma Unit. She’s compassionate and visionary—pausing only with a select few to be vulnerable and fill them with sunlight—she becomes informal, electrifying and unconsciously seductive.

People have let go in their last hours and knots of life under Abby’s care—her instinctual drive to save them is tempered with the matter of fact presence of death. She knows both and knows that she’s powerless in either case.

They spar and bitch at each other constantly—they are brutally honest together—and the friction fits their personalities. They provoke and compliment one another and both seem completely unaware of it. Nothing to interpret there.

It has been easy for them up until recently. So Abby is at a loss right now.

She watches Raven lean her head back against the wall and recognizes the forced sleepiness in her gestures, the indifferent look on her face. She can read it.

Abby is smart, gorgeous, does not suffer fools and can be unexpectedly sweet. She can also—because of her intimate knowledge of the body, and illness, and death—put her hands, unflinchingly, into the jaws of beasts much more powerful than her and look them in the eyes.

Raven has the same faith, although Abby guesses she might be too young yet to trust it.

Raven wants to erase her own name, her own desires. Raven doesn’t want herself placed anywhere near anything except what she can and does accomplish in the maps of her mind—she’d disappear from the landscape if she could, and leave everyone else for the stars.

Abby’s mate, Jake, died—something unthinkable—the despair and excruciating famine at the core of her would have destroyed anyone less. Half of her heart stopped beating; she grew wan with grief, she stopped eating. She went mute.

She had barely managed in the face of exhaustion and despair—had only managed anything for Clarke—and there was a cold fire of wastelands in her eyes that warred continuously with her warm, verdant promise of sovereignty.

Someone else could cherish the broken King in her, but Abby didn’t know that—that’s an absurdity. She was Jake’s. Jake was hers.

There is no overt  _seduction_  in Abby Griffin. She’d just simply closed the book of herself, put it back on a high and invisible shelf, and got on with her life—saving anyone she could.

Abby, to Raven, is an unknown drug of wonders, and she burns in her presence and seeks her out and hates herself for doing it.

This was not fucking fair. This was inconvenient. And unwanted. She was betraying herself every minute she spent in Abby’s presence, piecing together a storm of narrative and mirage about what  _could be_  between them despite her fierce independence and Aby’s obvious disinterest.

She wasn’t an idiot. Her body was always sinking into Abby’s promise. A promise Abby has given in her life to someone else—one that would never be given again.

Abby, despite her physiology, despite her wild nature, despite her instinctual needs—remains as remote and as clear-minded as a predator and just as untouchable—when Raven began to think like this she hated Abby. And Abby always looked through her, straight through her, and became excessively polite.

So this thing, this thing that was happening to her right now. This riot of sensation and becoming all-consumingly aware of the pleasure singing along every nerve of her body and soul—absolutely fucking not. Raven was an army of one.

* * *

She fumbles for the suppressants and hopes to god she can keep breathing.

Abby stands in front of her before she even sees her move.

“Taste me,” Abby says simply, holding her wrist out. "It'll help with your heat. All you need is a taste."

Raven looks at her, panicked.

“That's the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

Abby steps closer, and Raven lets out a soft growl. Abby almost laughs, Raven is actually challenging her. Not even Jake had ever done that. The fucking nerve.

“I know what you are. And your heat is rising. I can help.”

“Abby. Go away.” 

Abby doesn’t move. She just leans in and runs her tongue from the hollow of Raven's throat to the edge of her jaw, and then holds herself there. Raven moans softly, her eyes narrowing with overt hostility.

“How long has it been, Raven.”

“Two days ago.” Raven bites out.

Abby laughs softly and doesn’t move except to murmur. “No. Try again.”

Raven threads her fingers through Abby’s hair and with surprising gentleness pulls her head away.

She stares at her; her eyes burning with her own power—a secret, rare grasp of the absurdities of their kind’s physical and emotional needs—of the ridiculous hierarchies and posturing.

But she can’t fight a mating call. And she’s been denying this for years. She has her pride. She can’t have this. She won’t ever yield or submit to it. 

Abby’s blood surges when she sees it. She loves this about Raven. She loves that Raven can look her in the eye without it being a defiance. It’s a rare gift, and at the very heart of her, Abby knows what is hers, who is hers. Raven is hers.  _Mine._  

She sends up a fervent prayer to Jake, a friendlier human than he was an animal. She asks him to let her go.

There is no one else who can look at her like this, no one has ever dared.

In response she places her warm lips against Raven’s ear. “You haven’t really fucked anyone in months. Let me. I can help you.”

A mist of rough, protective and claiming Alpha pheromones mixes with her own flickering, erratic call and floods her center—it overwhelms Raven and she stumbles. Abby’s arm around her waist stops her; a hand comes up and cups her chin. Abby’s telegraphing at her lowest ebb, it’s nearly unconscious. It’s powerful even like that, unrelenting. 

Raven's eyes go dangerous, all poise, all graciousness, the muscles in her jaw twitch violently, and for an awful, thrilling few seconds, Abby thinks she might get hit in the face.

Abby can barely understand what she’s doing; this was mildly absurd up until just this second. Even with years of honing her instinctual impulses to suit her own circumstances and not the other way around, she’s playing with fire here and she knows it.

She edges her thigh between Raven’s legs and Raven stiffens, her head falling back into the wall behind her, cursing softly.

Abby leans back, freeing her from what can only be described as thrall, "Raven. I’m—Jesus—I’m sorry. I can feel you… Let’s start over, okay?”

The confusion and quiet alarm in Abby’s voice are what sets Raven off in a fury, an anger that hides her fear as best she can. She runs a hand through her hair, and Abby watches her carefully.

“I was out of line," Abby says.

“We’re friends, Abby.” 

She gently disengages from Abby’s hands, which have ended up on her chest, and places them at Abby’s side.

“We’re friends,” She says again so quietly only Abby’s enhanced hearing picks it up.

Raven’s scent is exhilarating and unavoidable. She smells pleasantly musky, and like Abby imagines stars would—like the vastness that surrounds light and thermonuclear fusion interspersed in the vacuum. And absurdly, she also carries an undernote of pine and cold moonlight.

Abby straightens, "Of course, yes.”

And then before Raven can stop herself, “No, we're not friends."

Abby looks actually embarrassed and hurt. "Raven, I—"

"I don’t want you.” Raven shakes herself back into some semblance of authority and then has to take a deep breath. "Yeah, Abby. You know better. You're fascinating. I need a beer. It’s so hot back here. Can you get me a beer? Do you want one—?"

Abby just nods tersely and steps fully away from Raven. Her shirt is visibly damp at the back and it  _is_ stifling in this small godawful closet. She nods. She’s in shadow and Raven can barely make out her eyes.

Then Abby looks at her and Raven feels gut-punched. Abby comes up to her, closer than even before and Raven thinks that Abby is going to force the issue or worse, embrace her. And she has no idea how she will handle that.

Instead, Abby roils up her sleeve and puts her arm forward and draws it in a slow arc across Raven’s cheek and neck and her skin erupts in fire, even with the strong drugs coursing through her veins.

Abby tilts her head, “Your mother loved those suppressants a little too much, Raven. Be careful.”

Raven can feel Abby’s touch, and her magnetic pull and her sweet sheen of sweat like blood left from a blade.

“I’ll get you that beer. You need anything else?”

Raven doesn't look away. "No, nothing else."

Abby actually flinches when she gets back to the front of the store because God,  _it hurts_.

* * *

The last time Raven and Wick fucked, she immediately rolled off of him and sat up, expecting him to leave her alone or make her laugh or tease her into some semblance of normalcy. She wasn’t normal, not with her leg, not with her skewed instincts, not with her secrets and not with the dull throb of an evened out, blissfully dulled sex drive.

Nothing about her was normal.

She picks up a pillow and places it onto her lap and pushes her hand irritably through her hair. She’s barely sated, and doesn’t give a shit. This is how things need to be for her. She won’t be hurt, and she won’t be belittled or pitied for the state of her leg—any perceived disadvantages are quickly shelved when she’s in bed. With anyone. And there’s a guaranteed suffocation of any part of her that might break free.

Wick usually knows this. Today he’s being petulant—or even more awful and embarrassing— he’s acting like he cares. “You should talk about it.”

Raven shakes her head dismissively.

“How long has it lasted this time? Longer than usual, yeah?” It’s a rhetorical question. Raven and Wick have been in bed together on and off for approximately a week.

“Raven, you’re going to hurt something.” His eyes spark with sardonic mirth and her fist swings towards him and lands hard just under his eye. “Ow.  _Fuck_ , Raven. I didn’t mean—“

He grabs her wrist before she can twist away. “Nothing will keep you away from her. You know that. Nothing. If you’re called, you’re called. That’s it.”

Raven does know that. No one is exempt from these rules, not even those who enforce them by allowing them.

And she lists her wounds to herself, all of them, emotional and physical. She catalogs them—all her scars and losses. She leaves Wick immediately, wiping herself clean with his sheets and not even bothering to shower.

When she gets home she watches the new crop of bruises splay across her skin. Wick’s uncomfortable with what she asks of him, what she needs more and more of to feel anything at all.

Her hunger is something she disavowed as soon as her mother died, as soon as Finn fell desperately in love with Clarke.

She’d opened the cabin door and saw his stupid, mild Beta face—sadness and confusion written all over him like a heat signature—and Clarke leaning unconcerned against the bedroom door and looking at her, never at Finn.

And she’d laughed at him. No one and nothing would keep Clarke from who she was, and who she wanted. And it wasn’t Finn.

Clarke and Raven had gathered his clothes and sent him out into the snowstorm to drive back to the city alone. Raven had managed to stay angry with Clarke for a full twenty minutes and then sighed into her spiked and delicious hot chocolate and laughed.

“Was it everything you wanted, Princess?”

Clarke giggled so hard she snorted her drink practically up her nose, “Everything and more.”

“Thought so,” Raven hid her smile behind the rim of her mug.

Clarke’s molten, summer blue eyes focused on her and Raven’s hunger sparked and surrounded her. Clarke shifted uneasily and Raven watched her in a state of generous, mild hilarity and satisfaction. Alphas were about as predictable as Betas.

Clarke did something extraordinary then, and wouldn't even catch her eye. Raven wonders if she’ll go one further and expose her neck and Raven wonders briefly what she would do if Clarke does. Interesting.

They sit quietly and listen to the remnants of the storm and the crackling of the fire in the wood stove.

“I don’t interest you,” Clarke finally said.

Raven sighed and put down her drink, “No one does.” She looked up at Clarke. “It’s like gathering intel with you people, isn’t it? It doesn’t even matter who it is when you’re in rut.”

Clarke looked at her with pity, and Raven’s skin almost erupts in hives she hates pity so much.

“It’s how much you can bear, Raven. That’s all it is. For me, it’s how much I can handle by just getting by.”

Raven doesn’t have to ask who Clarke’s talking about. She realized she’s irritable because of the thinness of the air in the mountains—that must be what it is—and picked up her mug again. She idly wondered if Finn made it back to the city, and didn’t really care one way or the other.

A sudden gust of wind rattled the frame of the window Raven’s sitting next to. Her breathing is shallow and audible in her throat.

“We all pretend until we don’t,” Clarke said and refills her drink.

Then Raven realized that nothing was hers except herself.

When Raven’s mother died she had slipped into her hospital room and held her suddenly impossibly frail body.

In silence, she’d watched the morning rise through the slatted blinds and wash her mother clean with light.

And then she had stood back and let the hospice nurses clean the woman she’d disavowed years ago, and she watched them strip the sheets and go about the business of preparing the room for the next soul.

She’d held the backpack against her chest; the one piece of luggage her mother had brought with her, the one filled with the black market suppressants that eventually, inexorably killed her.

Raven thought briefly of reporting Nygel to the police and handing the whole thing over to the authorities. She took the bag and the drugs to the small, pitiful funeral and swore to herself that it would never be her. She would never allow her biology to consume her no matter what kind of agony she was in.

The drugs would work as they worked when she needed them. They took away her pain, the physical pain of her leg (this delighted her) and the emotional pain that seemed to multiply as time went on.

Being disabled takes so much from her. Being claimed by anyone was too much. The physical injury costs her a place on the Zero-G team, the suppressants made her limp disappear. She’d taken the test again, high as a fucking kite, and passed. Sinclair looks at her curiously but doesn't say anything. He doesn't say anything when her heart murmur almost washes her out of the program altogether. She knows he's the reason she is in the program at all.

And while Raven likes to think of herself as just a mechanic, and that’s a large part of her job, she’s a Mechanical Engineer with a secondary interest in Electrical Engineering. Sinclair insists she stay because there was more  _out there_ for her, in space, than there is here down on the ground. Sinclair mildly threatens her into not giving up. So she takes the drugs, and seeks them out and relies on them to take her all the way through.

* * *

“Raven,” Abby murmurs. “I need your gorgeous mind clear when this happens. I’m not going to take you against your will. I’m not going to force a heat on you. No one is. It’s alright, baby.” 

The beer and sandwiches sit on the floor next to them, untouched. And the endearment, as startling as it is familiar, hangs between them.

Abby is almost 18 years older, but Raven is smarter. She’s hungry for herself before she’s hungry for a mate. Sex makes people infinitely stupid.

Abby sees the disdain Raven is fighting to hide and all Abby wants to do is celebrate the beauty and independence she holds in her arms as much as she wants to tear Raven to shreds and have Raven submit to her. She wants Raven under her. At the very least, she wants Raven to admit what Abby does to her.

Abby had come back from the deli and doubled over, she had to swallow hard though unbearable pain and pleasure. Her hand scrabbled for the wall, for any kind of purchase, before she collapses in public and tries to think how in hell she’s going to deal with the situation obviously happening.

She felt the tidal pull of heat flaring out from Raven from almost three blocks away and hopes, prays, it was just  _someone else_.

She would be able to sense Raven,  _her_ , from across a city—and barely coherent enough to realize just how out of character this is. She finds Raven in a similar state.

Abby runs the pad of her thumb through the sudden, damp wetness of Raven’s hair, gauges an excess of visceral, potent blood streaming between Raven’s legs, and gasps when she intuits that Raven hasn’t been through a real heat in years.

She doesn't want to imagine what Raven’s done to ward this off until now. She has some idea and straight up balks at the kind of damage this has done to Raven’s endocrine system.

Raven is so far gone when Abby finds her leaning heavily against the wall—her skin glistens with pheromones and her eyes can't focus when she takes her in her arms.

Abby’s all grace and courtesy, breathing protective pheromones into the sensitive (in all ways) skin just under Raven’s ears, and calms her as best she can. Her voice is low, liquid balm and unstressed. Abby skates her teeth over Raven’s neck, and lets turbulent power cascade over both of them, lets it become as necessary as air.

Raven gasps and catches her breath as Abby subtly rocks into her.

“So this is what’s going to happen,” Abby croons, “You’re going to tell me,” her voice soothing Raven’s rising, frantic and overpowering vulnerability, “what you've done to yourself?” 

Raven pulls away. Abby lets her go.

She smooths Raven’s hair behind her ear, damp and cold in the confined space and says carefully, “Baby, are you hurting?”

The concern is real. The endearment makes Raven’s heart stop. The concern and honesty she hears in Abby’s voice almost makes Raven cry.

She closes her eyes, fighting tears, fighting herself, fighting Abby and shakes her head. Moments pass and when she opens them again, Abby is gone.

After a few hours in the vast labyrinth of almost half a century-old wiring Raven makes her way cautiously out to the front of the space. The lights are low and Abby sits gathering her papers together and arranging them in her bag. 

Raven drops her own bag and Abby watches her approach, her expression solemn and softer than Raven has ever seen it. 

“Do you need a ride home…?” Abby’s voice trails off as Raven slowly kneels in front of her, and with a confidence that makes Abby’s head swim, Raven looks up at her. Abby sees desire and shyness in Raven’s gaze. It’s intoxicating. 

“Why does Lexa do it?” Raven asks abruptly.

“Why does she do what?”

“Of all the things she can do, why a book store?”

Abby adjusts to the death-defying swerve the conversation takes and thinks for a minute.

“I’d imagine anyone in her position, with her responsibilities, would need an outlet like this. A great love. And she loves books. Clarke tells me she was a shy little girl with oversized glasses, all gangly and clumsy, who barely talked to anyone until she hit puberty. This is a gift to herself more than for anyone else.”

Raven nods and waves her hand vaguely, still on her knees. “She’s the least out of control or furious person I know—“ and Abby kind of snorts at that. Because she’s seen Lexa lose it.

“She handles anything that anyone throws at her—why not a Kindle?” Raven cocks her head, and Abby is really not sure what is going on at all, except that Raven looks suddenly  _adorable_. “I love my Kindle—almost a thousand books in one.”

Abby barely hides a smile. “What would you do if you spent your whole life being in control, needing to be at the top of your game, never showing weakness or—“

“Abby,” Raven sighs, “I do that every day. Everyone does. This place barely makes any money.”

“But it makes people happy.” Abby adjusts her reading glasses and Raven almost loses it right there. Because, Abby in glasses—

“Lexa’s never been fully comfortable in the world. Being able to open a book, smell the pages, hold it in her hands. a book, a real book, is a companion. It's a  _bond_  between object and reader—and you’re safe in that. The sound of the paper in your hands. The smell of the wind and the forest, the beach or the lake where you’re sitting and reading—people associate these things and it makes them happy. They draw and takes notes in the margins. There’s a history to all these books, someone loved them before they arrived here. Someone will love them again.”

“The smell, huh?”

“Real books collect constellations. You’d never be able to tell the full story of how many people got lost in that one collection of pages, and binding glue, how many hands it's passed through—“

“Someone wrote letters to someone else because they read a passage in a book they loved.”

“Yes, like that,” Abby answers with a practiced authority—she works in a teaching hospital—it’s not pedantic. It’s a certain, tentative charm that Raven knows is only saved for the people she loves, for the subjects she loves.

She’s seen Abby talk with Clarke. With Marcus and Jackson. She’s seen Abby with patients who come through her emergency room. It’s not personal and it’s as intimate as it gets.

“Haven’t you ever fucked someone in the library stacks,” Abby’s expression is slightly hilarious, an extraordinary eyebrow arch, and she looks around like she has no idea who just said that.

Raven takes a minute, breathing steadily through her nose. “Uh—“

Abby recovers like a pro. “You’re missing out.”

When Raven’s shoulders slump a little Abby reins herself in. “I’m sorry—“

Raven rises to her feet and shifts restlessly. Raven is further away, moving away without physically leaving, toward the corner into deeper shadow. Even though Abby thinks Raven’s recoiling and might run at any sudden movement, Abby rises and takes a step in her direction.

“Raven. We never have to talk about this again. This doesn’t have to happen. We can talk about books forever.”

Raven moves away for real now. One elbow rests on the shelves, and she slides along them, as though she wants to disappear between the bookshelves where no one can find her.

It was either that or Raven was leading Abby into a place no one could find  _them_. They’re close enough now, and there is the thin light from overhead that throws them both into stark relief—they're both trembling messes and barely upright. Abby can see Raven trying to speak.

Raven brings herself under control and says, “I don’t—it’s been years since I’ve been through a heat,” Abby sees her throat constrict and she has to pause. “I mean, without the drugs.”

Abby can’t help the gasp that escapes her, “Raven, you’re mother—“

“Abby, I know. All right? I know.” Raven snarls.

Abby clamps down brutally on her instinct to tear at Raven’s throat for the implied threat. As it is, the growl that reverberates through her is enough to stagger Raven further back into one of the stacks.

Raven is unmated. That’s all Abby can feel or know for a hairy few moments.

Until now, Raven’s gaze was lowered, just past Abby’s shoulder—like it was when she came in at the start of the day— but Abby’s response is unambiguous. Raven’s hit with an undeniable fever of claiming hormones and it makes her skin crawl and her core, her heart respond with desire and disgust.

Her eyes shoot up, raking over Abby's face. Abby can only see the glitter and half-madness of the whites of her eyes.

“You know about me." Raven snaps. " _Of all people_ , you know about me—maybe Clarke, maybe Lexa, maybe they know too—why would you know anything before even I did? Who gave you the right? I don’t want this.  _You don’t want this_. So why is it there?”

She looks down and Abby waits.

“This is fucking ridiculous.” Raven spits. “You do know what I’m talking about. Tell me I’m not stupid. Tell me you know.”

Abby says, very quietly. “I do.”

Their friendship has become vague and even constrained in recent months, Raven slowly disappearing into herself, turning inwards with her physical pain, and throwing off any advice or concern Abby offered.

It’s started more than one fight between them. And each time, Raven misses Abby more and more.

The matter of fact, perfectly clinical way in which Abby acknowledges the nearly impossible draw between them makes Raven want to curl up and die. There’s no emotion in Abby’s words, no need, no desire. It’s simply a fact, like how Abby offered herself up just a few hours ago. 

She wants to tear everything apart thinking how many people Abby offers her services to. Ugh, what kind of thought is that?

Raven runs a shaking hand through her hair and takes out her ponytail,  _fucking great_. Now she knows how Wick feels. 

Abby puts her palms on her shoulders, and Raven nearly faints. Her bare hands are cool on Raven’s overheated skin. It sets Raven’s teeth on edge and she shivers, helpless against the onslaught of Abby’s deliriously beautiful scent.

“Tone it down,” she mutters. “Abby, please. Be careful.”

Abby does what she’s told and half smiles at herself for doing it, with the preening assurance that she can bring herself under control—despite any circumstances, and because of those circumstances.

She smooths her hands carelessly down Raven’s chest—breathing in her richness before deliberately stepping away. Raven can damn well handle anything she throws at her right now. Abby’s furious at her recklessness, angry at her for abusing herself this way.

“We should talk about your… pain management.” Abby says. “What you’re doing will overwhelm you. Eventually.”

Abby turns and closes the book that had been splayed out in front of her before Raven came out from the back, effectively closing off the fiction between them—tired by what they’re both denying. 

She turns and is relieved to see that some color has come back to Raven’s skin, that she’s breathing normally. Abby hesitates and then gathers her things. She waits for Raven to do the same.

“You look like you’re hungry,” Raven says and then rolls her eyes at how that must sound, “I mean for food. I could eat again.”

“You can always eat. That’s what I like about you. You enjoy food.” Abby laughs.

“Oh.” Raven perks up, “Is that a thing?”

Abby looks at her fondly and with a lot of exasperation. “Yes, it is. Not many people enjoy their food. Especially doctors. I’ve lived on Oreos and Ranch Doritos for days at a time.”

“That sounds kind of amazing. Let me buy you dinner."

Abby nods and they head to the front door. It’s almost dark out. Abby digs for her keys and realizes that her neck is stiff from the effort of remaining focused and submerged in her own best interests.

“Keep very still.” Abby’s voice is all command, and soft. Raven pulls herself up short and obeys without thinking. They stand next to each other in the fading light of an early autumn day. 

They say nothing more, and Abby has to think as clearly as she can with Raven so close to her. 

Raven stands easily in front of her, not letting go of her, not touching her, waiting.

And Raven, careless of anyone passing in the street or any potential bystander to see her do it, looks, really looks, at Abby. Abby shakes her head to stop her, but Raven is too far gone in what she needs to do.

Raven stares at her, her eyes clear. Abby can hear her deep inhalation. It is essential to remain still.

Raven steps closer, and stops herself short from going back down on her heels.

Instead, Abby leans forward and puts her lips against Raven’s temple. She can taste salt, seasons changing, warm sunlight—that particular slant of moonlight just out of reach, tangling in dark branches against the snow.

“You never look away,” Abby breathes out and strokes Raven’s cheek with slightly trembling fingers. “You’re the only one who never looks away.”

“Give me time, Abby. I need time.” Raven says, softly. “I’m scared. And I’m going to run.” 

“I am, too.” Abby sighs and shifts to whisper in Raven’s ear. "You can’t even imagine what I need you to do to me.” 


	12. Assassins AU / Polis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile! Raven and Clarke and the Adventure Squad find themselves flung into the Future after the destruction of the City of Light after Lexa/The Flame goes thermonuclear. Abby and Lexa are presumed dead.
> 
> “Oh, MY GOD. You fucking NERD.” Raven’s mouth drops open. “What. Did you write it in block letters across the last page? ‘DON’T FORGET COMPASSION AND HUMANITY AND EMPATHY LOL J/K nb4r J ’”
> 
> “Pretty much. But in patch code.”
> 
> Raven covers her eyes and groans, “I am so embarrassed.”
> 
> “Oh come on, dude. How else were we going to do it? Kidnap her ass and intone ‘we come from the future’?” Monty says, mildly hurt. “Oh and by the way, you’re the one that caused the death of billions so like, pay attention.”
> 
> “That was kind of our plan.” Clarke says mildly.

Hey guys. I've revised and remixed the Assassins AU for **[Polis](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5861791/chapters/13511653) ** \- it's a little different and fits that story in the best possible way. hope you enjoy. Let me know! and thanks so much for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't Own. Not for Profit.


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